


i am death, none can excel

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angry Kyle Broflovski, Badass Nichole Daniels, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Character Death, Craig Tucker and Tweek Tweak in Love, Developing Relationship, Dissociation, Drug Use, Emotional Infidelity, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Epic Friendship, Eric Cartman Being Eric Cartman, Escapism, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid Character, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inappropriate Humor, Inspired By Until Dawn (Video Game), Jealousy, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mystery, No Smut, Past Sexual Abuse, Pining, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, Reader-Interactive, Redemption, Relationship Problems, Self-Hatred, Slurs, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 95,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21513664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Come on, Kyle. It'll be fun, Kyle. Let's go to Butters' Uncle Budd's lodge in the mountains, Kyle. It won't be like last time, Kyle! IT'S NOT LIKE ANYONE IS GONNA DIE, KYLE!""Dude."
Relationships: Bebe Stevens & Heidi Turner, Clyde Donovan & Craig Tucker, Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Kenny McCormick/Craig Tucker, Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kyle Broflovski & Eric Cartman & Kenny McCormick & Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger, Leopold "Butters" Stotch/Charlotte, Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger, Token Black/Nichole Daniels
Comments: 349
Kudos: 178





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: Your choices matter. They decide the fates of the characters, including who they hook up with and who ends up dying. Please take note of the tags and make your decisions carefully.**
> 
> **GOOD LUCK**

**11.30PM**

“ _Uh, well hey fellas! It’s Butters here! Hope you’re having fun wherever you are – I’m okay! Canada’s been pretty good, uh, Charlotte says hi! So fellas, I was thinking, it’s been a while since we all met up and just hung out like old times, so why not get together for the holidays! My Uncle Budd said we could borrow his lodge for the weekend again – figured we could use it and have ourselves a little shindig, like last time. Well, maybe not like last time, but it sure will be fun! I’ve got Cheesy Poofs and Snacky Cakes, and a little bit of alcohol; I know some of you like that stuff… and hey! Since we have it for the whole weekend, we could go skiing a-and toast marshmallows and have snowball fights! Aw, it sure would be good to see you guys again, I-I hope you can make it! Oh boy, you can tell me all about college and your jobs and—"_

Kyle pauses the video and sighs.

He drums his fingers along the steering wheel and wonders why he’s even bothering with this trip. Well, okay, that’s a lie. He misses his friends and it _has_ been a long-ass time since he’s seen them – granted, it’s only been a few months, but considering he’s grown up with the assholes, it feels like forever. He’s spoken to Stan most days, Kenny too and, surprisingly enough, Wendy has seemingly taken it upon herself to check in on him at least once a day.

He wonders if she’s been writing reports to send back to his mom – it really wouldn’t surprise him. His mom has been consistently adamant that he wasn’t keeping in touch enough, so it really wouldn’t surprise him to learn that she had roped his friends into spying on him for her.

Kyle sighs as he pulls up to the gated entrance for the cable cart’s parking lot; it’s private land apparently – Kyle isn’t sure what Butters’ Uncle Budd does, or why Butters still visits him, but he’s _really_ fucking wealthy. Like, _Token_ -levels of wealthy. Like, a luxury lodge in the mountains, wealthy. Like you need a fucking privatised keycode just to get into the _parking_ _lot_ of the cable cart, wealthy.

The first time Kyle visited, he had been too dazed and too excited to even question why Uncle Budd was so fucking rich and Butters’ family was… so fucking not. The more he visits though, the more the cogs turn in his mind. Kyle finds it frustrating as fuck that he can never really connect the dots as to why Uncle Budd has such a big ski lodge and, funnily enough, not even _Butters_ knows what his Uncle Budd does to afford such a big place, but he had invited Kyle to ask the guy himself if he was that curious.

Funnily enough, Kyle has _never_ been that curious.

 _Especially_ after hearing some of the alleged creepy stories about the guy and what he has done to Butters.

Kyle wrinkles his nose in disgust; he’s always wanted to ask Butters if there had been a shred of truth in what he used to say when he was younger. The guy hasn’t said a word about it since they were ten, but the allegations have always weighed on Kyle’s mind and constantly made him feel guilty for not doing _anything_. That being said, should Butters ever come to him and tell him that his Uncle Budd _has_ been up to some dodgy shit... well, the moment Kyle graduates and receives concrete evidence, he’s coming down _hard_ on Uncle Budd.

 _And_ he’ll help Butters throw a swanky-ass party to celebrate.

For now though, Kyle hasn’t got shit to go on, so he’s just gonna take advantage of the guy’s suspicious generosity and trash his fancy fucking mountain lodge.

Kyle winds down the window and winces as a cold gust of wind blows inside the car – the icy breeze catches painfully on his ears and he hunches up his shoulders protectively. He reaches out and stabs at the keypad four times.

 _0322_.

He wonders if anyone else recognises the number – fuck, he really hopes not. No one needs a repeat of what happened last year, _Christ_.

The iron-wrought gates slowly creak open and Kyle can hear the metal whine against the ice that’s formed around the hinges. Once a gap forms big enough for his car, Kyle pull into the parking lot and scans the vehicles already present. Kenny’s beat-up truck is there, bright orange and utterly smothered in stickers of half-naked people, memes and several drawings that had Karen written all over them. Some of them looked like Ike’s handiwork and Kyle could even spot an artful middle-finger, courtesy of Craig’s little sister, Tricia.

Speaking of Craig, Kyle pulls up alongside a tiny little car, baby blue in colour, with a tiny smiling Buddha hanging from the rear-view mirror. He feels an anxious itch under his skin as he remembers last year’s disaster of a party and wonders if any of the guys actually managed to sort their crap out. Kyle can’t really remember how the party ended after shit went down – he just remembers Sheila storming in, grabbing him by the ear and hauling him outside to berate him for his actions.

Which was _way_ fucking unfair.

It hadn’t even been _his_ fucking idea.

He wasn’t even _there_ when the _dumbasses_ came up with the—

Okay.

No.

 _Breathe Kyle, breathe_ , he thinks, counting down from ten as he remembers what Ike had instructed him to do when his emotions got the better of him.

 _Five_ —

He thinks about Kenny’s jokes.

— _four_ —

He thinks about Stan’s laughter.

— _three_ —

He thinks about his mom’s hugs.

— _two_ —

He thinks about Ike’s smile.

— _and one_ , he’s back in the room. Or car, whatever. Rolling his shoulders back, Kyle braces himself for the bitter bite of winter as he unbuckles his seatbelt and unlocks the car door – he shivers as he pushes himself out of the car, roughly snatching his keys out and slamming the door shut behind him. He zips up his jacket further up his neck and buries the lower half of his face in his scarf – it belonged to Ike, who had thrown it at him during their goodbyes and it smells faintly of Doritos and Creed aftershave.

It’s an interesting mix and so utterly like his brother.

Kyle stomps through the snow towards the boot of his car, throws up the lid, and snatches up his backpack. The bottles inside clatter together and Kyle hopes that the clothes inside are thick enough barriers to prevent anything shattering – that whiskey was fucking expensive and he’d be pissed if it spilled all over his clothes. He slams the lid down and marches towards the cable cart’s office. He uses his shoulder to push the door open and isn’t surprised by the sight that greets him.

The office is incredibly rundown and barren as fuck inside, with a broken security desk and blacked out television screens behind it. There’s a softly lit lantern, however, with a piece of paper tucked underneath it. Kyle snatches it up and softly huffs out a breath of laughter as he reads Kenny’s messy scrawl.

_Creepy old dude is creepy – but kinda cool, so don’t freak out too much <3_

“Creepy old dude?” Kyle asks under his breath, arching a brow as he tucks the note back under the lantern. He doesn’t really get what Kenny is talking about, ‘cause last time he had checked, literally _no one_ manned the desk of the cable cart’s office. It is literally a DIY job of pulling the handle and then hopping into the cart – it isn’t exactly rocket science, so why would anyone—

“Another one, eh?”

Kyle jumps and spins around, clutching at his heart like his mom clutches at her fake-ass pearls. An old man leans against the fencing situated just at the edge of the cliff – he looks way too underdressed for the frigid weather and Kyle finds himself freezing just looking at him. The old man is decked out in a pair of threadbare overalls with a floppy hat that perches precariously on his head – he has a cloth in one hand, which he continuously wipes over a silver object held tight in his other hand.

“Christ, who the fuck are you?” Kyle asks, breathing fast as he concentrates on getting his heartbeat back to a normal rate.

“Oh, I’m no one,” the old man replies easily, “better question is, who are you and where do you think you’re going.”

Kyle blinks, confused and mildly offended.

“Um, well,” he utters slowly, hitching his bag further up his shoulder as he feels it slipping somewhat, “I’m Kyle and I’m going away. From here. Now.” He backs up carefully, inching his way towards the cart and away from the creepy old man.

 _How the fuck does Kenny think this dude is cool?_ Kyle thinks, but only briefly, ‘cause it really isn’t worth querying anything Kenny thinks. Or says. Or does.

Kenny’s just fucking weird.

“Wouldn’t be heading down that road, would ya? Nope, you don’t wanna go down that road,” the old man continues to say, his voice low. The words sound like a warning, but the man’s tone is way too casual for Kyle to take seriously, “only bad things await you down there.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Kyle replies, turning away towards the cart.

“Wouldn’t recommend it, there’s a lotta history down that road,” the old man says, despite doing nothing to stop Kyle from getting into the cart, “dangerous mountains lie ahead with a pretty messed up story – a lot of death, misery and despair. No, if I were you, I’d turn right ‘round and head away from that road.”

Kyle arches a brow. “Duly noted,” he says and hops into the cart.

The old man sighs and continues to rub his cloth over what now looks like a piece of machinery; Kyle briefly hopes that it isn’t a necessary part for the cable cart to work – he goes to close the door behind him, but the man sighs heavily and captures his attention once again.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” he intones, leaning back against the fence, “I guess it could be worse – that road could be leading ya to a circus of despair, or a wicked game of death, or maybe a madman in a mask. Lotta messed up roads ‘round these parts. Yep, if I were you, I’d hightail it back down from whence you came.”

“Dude,” Kyle states, his skin crawling irritably, “can I go now?”

“If you insist,” the old man says with a sniff of his nose, “just remember what I told ya.”

Kyle rolls his eyes and slams the door shut.

The cart rocks and creeks as it slowly descends up into the mountains – he distantly wishes he had allowed Ike to come along with, but the party is strictly 18+ and his mom is already experiencing some form of Empty Nest Syndrome. It would’ve been super uncool to deprive her of her other son when she’s already lost one to California.

Plus, there’s the whole ‘ _she doesn’t actually know he’s here_ ’ thing. For the sake of everyone’s sanity involved, he had told his mom that he’d be visiting Craig at the Community College of Aurora before heading down to South Park for Hanukkah.

Admittedly, riding this creepy-ass cart _would’ve_ been less freaky with Ike around; Kyle could almost hear his brother’s sighs over the pretty views mixed amongst more than a few complaints about the severe lack of reception. Kyle pulls out his phone and furrows his brows – okay, so maybe imaginary Ike has a point about the reception. Literally no fucking bars – god, he had forgotten just how shitty the signal was up in the mountains.

He’s a little impressed that any of his friends’ texts have made it to him.

He uses his fingerprint against the lock-screen and slinks further down his seat when his phone unlocks. The last text he had received from any of the guys was from Clyde – it had been a photo message of Uncle Budd leaving the mansion, bag over his shoulder and a lazy salute sent Clyde’s way. Uncle Budd literally looks like a blond version of Stephen Stotch… just with more hair on the chin and less on the scalp.

Kyle shivers as he reads Clyde’s caption: _when the cat’s away, the mice GET TOTALLY FUCKED UP!_

He rolls his eyes and locks his phone again, sliding it into his pocket. He absently wonders why Butters is still in contact with his Uncle Budd, especially after the fucked-up shit he’s allegedly done – but then Kyle remembers some of the fucked-up shit _he_ and the _guys_ have done to Butters in the past and look at him now. On his way to Butters’ party which the dude personally invited him to.

Christ.

Out of all of his friends attending therapy, it really is _Butters_ who needs it most.

Which, well, was kinda unfair, but come on.

Who the fuck throws another party after last time?  
  


* * *

**11.47PM**

After a ridiculously cold commute from the cable cart to the lodge, Kyle swears to himself that this party is the last damn time he comes to visit Uncle Budd’s stupid fucking mountain mansion. Christ, he’s fucking freezing and he can practically _feel_ the icicles forming on the tip of his nose. His hands feel frozen as they clutch at the straps of his bag and his knees are _literally_ killing him.

Distantly, he wishes he _had_ told his mom the truth about where he was going for the weekend – or, at the very least, for Ike to have ratted him out.

But no.

He thought it would be _fine_.

He thought it would be _good_ to meet his friends again.

Well, _fuck_ that shit.

This is literally the last goddamn time he wastes precious life coming up to this goddamn lodge in the middle of the night, during fucking winter, to spend time with a bunch of assholes, most of which he _doesn’t even like_.

Okay. So that’s a lie. He does like _most_ of his friends – just not enough to consider repeating this fucking trip.

Kyle heaves out a sigh of relief as he finally arrives at the stone steps leading up to the lodge; it creeps him out, knowing that the last time he was stood on them, his mom had literally been dragging him home as he screamed and cursed his friends for their dumb fucking ideas. He slowly makes his way up them but pauses momentarily on the sixth step and sniffs; his nose numb and wet from the cold as his mind replays the memories like a broken record.

Why the fuck is he even here?

This is such a dumb fucking idea.

He should just turn around and— “Hey Kyle, you’re going to die if you stay out there!” Heidi’s voice calls out to him.

_Goddammit._

He looks up and sees Heidi waving at him from the front door – she’s bundled up in a pink turtleneck and a brown suede skirt, with what can only be Bebe’s red jacket slung over her shoulders. Her soft, brown hair is cut into a sweet pixie-cut and her face is already turning pink from the cold. Out of all of his friends, she’s the one who has changed the most over the years.

Thankfully, she had survived dating Eric Cartman and had developed into being a strong, sensitive girl that Kyle could see himself crushing on again. He probably would have explored something with her further, but Bebe had quite honestly declared _dibs_ in the most terrifying fashion last year, and he likes to think he has enough self-respect to know when to bow out…

Still, Bebe has yet to actually ask Heidi out, so what the fuck?

“Hey Heidi,” he greets, stiffly marching up the rest of the steps to join her on the porch, “you been here long?”

Heidi smiles and shakes her head, reaching up to brush the snow from his shoulders gently.

“Bebe and I got here a few hours ago,” she explains, dusting his hat before deeming him tidy enough to enter the lodge. She folds her arms against her chest and steps aside, letting him escape the harsh cold of winter into… well, the harsh cold of the lodge. Christ, they’ve been coming here for fucking years and _still,_ no one knows how to operate the fucking fireplace, “we were just chilling out, watching Token trying to start the fire, but then Clyde got involved, so _obviously_ Bebe had to get involved… I’m kinda glad you turned up, to be honest.”

“O-Oh?” Kyle utters, hoping that any colour flooding his face could be mistaken as him being cold.

Heidi flashes him a sweet smile. “Yeah, I mean,” she ducks her head, “after your performance last time, I think you’re the only one who can actually get them to behave.”

“Oh,” Kyle deflates, getting a soft giggle in response.

“I’m kidding,” Heidi says after a small beat of silence, shoving at him softly, “although it is good to finally see someone with more than two brain cells around here.”

“ _Two_ brain cells?” Kyle questions, snickering, “that’s generous.”

“Oh, I’m _so_ telling Stan you said that,” Heidi teases, spinning on her heel to waltz her way into the lounge.

“Snitches get stitches,” Kyle calls after her, rolling his eyes. He stomps his feet hard on the welcome mat, dislodging the snow from his boots before following after her.

He shivers as he steps inside the lounge and is immediately welcomed by a delighted call of “Ky-yle!” – Stan’s greeting is swiftly followed by his best friend swooping upon him and wrapping him up in a pair of warm arms. Stan is literally a whole head shorter than him which makes their hugs extra comfortable because he just fits so nicely. Which yeah, is a pretty gay observation to make, but it’s _Stan_.

So, it doesn’t count.

Another pair of arms wrap around his middle and a flowery draft of perfume informs him that Wendy has added herself to the cuddle. At least, he assumes she’s being Wendy today because Stan once told him that she would often wear a spicier scent as Wendyl.

“Hi Kyle, glad you could make it,” she says, squeezing him tight before releasing him with a sweet grin.

“Wish I could say the same,” he responds wryly, “I actually kinda wish an avalanche had taken me out first.”

Stan’s responding snort captures Kyle’s attention. It’s only been four months, but Stan looks like a new man compared to the one Kyle bid goodbye to before he left for Stanford. He doesn’t seem as tired. Doesn’t look as stressed out – the bags have almost disappeared from under his eyes and there’s a softness to Stan’s physique which tells Kyle that his friend is doing much better lately; Stan hates change and everyone leaving for college had really messed him up for a while, but it seems he’s managed to get himself back on track. Kyle’s body almost rocks under the wave of relief that hits him; out of everyone he has missed, it’s always been Stan on his mind.

_Is Stan okay?_

_What is he doing?_

_Is his mom’s new boyfriend nice to him?_

_Is he really okay with not going to college?_

_Is he getting enough Vitamin C?_

Kyle’s eyes flit over to Wendy and a small smile grows on his lips. She shoots him a knowing wink, looking just as proud as he feels – it’s funny, seeing as Wendy constantly and adamantly insists that she’s never been interested in trying to ‘fix’ Stan, but Kyle supposes she can never really stop herself from helping him fix himself. He guesses he never needed to worry about Stan – the guy can clearly look after himself now, despite his best friend and girlfriend ditching him for college.

And on opposite ends of the country too.

“Dude, don’t say shit like that,” Stan admonishes, punching Kyle lightly in the arm, “this place is creepy as fuck, I don’t need you jinxing it too.”

“It’s not creepy,” Wendy argues, arching a brow, “it just needs a little dusting, maybe a fresh lick of paint, ooh, a nice periwinkle blue might do the trick, and, and— uh, yeah,” Wendy deflates as she glances around the lodge, “yeah, it is really creepy.”

Kyle snorts. “Why are we here?” he asks, placing his hands on his hips, “like, honestly. Why did he even invite any of us back here? Surely Butters isn’t that desperate for friends that he asks the assholes who—”

“Seriously?” Stan asks, looking at Wendy incredulously, “is he for real?” Stan turns to Kyle with a disbelieving gleam in his eyes, “can’t you wait five minutes before you pull the self-righteous lawyer bullshit?”

“Self-righteous?” Kyle echoes with a snort, “says you! You’re the one who chewed everyone out once we got back to South Park last year!”

“Says the guy who threatened everyone with a fucking lawsuit,” Stan says, poorly stifling his laughter, “I mean, you scared the shit outta me, I’ve never seen your face turn that red before! Like, you were glowing, dude – thought you were gonna burst a blood vessel, that shit isn’t healthy.”

“My face did _not_ —”

“It _totally_ did—”

“—so full of _shit_ —”

“—don’t be _embarrassed_ —"

“Holy _shit_ ,” Wendy interrupts loudly, “you’re both as useless as each other, give it a rest.” She shakes her head fondly at them, before elbowing them out of her way, “it’s too cold to stand around listening to you two bitch at each other.”

Kyle watches her stalk away towards the rest of their friends – he peers at Stan askance and purses his lip.

“My face did not _glow_ red,” he states petulantly.

“Hey,” Stan says, holding up his hands in surrender, “I’m just looking out for your blood pressure.”

Kyle levels him with a flat look. “My blood pressure is fine,” he protests, but it falls on deaf ears as Stan’s attention has already been captured by Wendy who tugs him away towards the fireplace. Kyle hopes they can light it soon – he’s freezing his fucking balls off and no amount of alcohol is gonna warm those fuckers up.

Kyle looks around and guesses he should probably put his shit in his room when he realises he doesn’t even know which room is his. He’s not even sure he _has_ a room, but if Butters invited him back, then that has to mean something, right?

“Hey Kyle!” Butters calls out with a singsong lilt, practically skipping across the lounge to greet him.

Speak of the devil, huh?

Kyle raises a hand and awkwardly waves – well, Butters _seems_ okay. Like, Kyle hasn’t really seen him over the past year, seeing as Butters fucked off to Canada after their last party; he guesses up North really is that much better than South Park, ‘cause the guy has barely been in touch. Ike would probably attest to that too. Still, Butters doesn’t look like Uncle Budd has given him any trouble and he doesn’t look like he’s even bothered by everyone returning to what was almost a crime scene. He looks genuinely unruffled and for that, Kyle is torn between relief and mild envy.

He wishes he could forget the shitshow that went on last year, _fuck_.

“‘Sup dude,” Kyle says, his eyes scanning Butters’ face carefully – bar the shuriken scar that slices through his left eye, Butters’ face really hasn’t changed all that much since childhood. His hair is still styled the same and his eyes still gleam with childish innocence. His body, however, has somehow melted away the soft puppy-fat from his youth, leaving him with a slender build that looks suspiciously skinnier than last time; besides that, the only real difference is the single crystal stud decorating his nose. Kenny’s handiwork, clearly, and Kyle is honestly surprised that Butters’ dad has let him continue to wear it.

To be honest, Kyle is surprised that Butters’ dad even allowed him to move to Canada which, huh. Is really weird, ‘cause thinking about, Kyle can’t really remember the last time he even _saw_ Butters’ parents. He wouldn’t be shocked if he learned that they had fucked off to Canada too, or were just plain avoiding everyone – Kyle wouldn’t even _blame_ them.

Especially after. _Well_.

“Glad you could come!” Butters says, grinning up at him brightly, “it was real nice of Uncle Budd to let us stay the weekend! He sure was sore about what happened last year, but I’m sure we’ll have more fun this time around!”

“Yeah, go Uncle Budd,” Kyle chimes in, cheerlessly. He shifts from one foot to the other uncomfortably, his bag slipping down his shoulders as he mulls over his words carefully, “listen Butters, about last year—”

“Oh, here!” Butters interjects, and Kyle is sure he’s doing it on purpose, “I’ll take your bag up to your room – it’s the same as last year, we didn’t touch nothing, promise.”

Kyle blinks, unable to fight Butters off when the blond smoothly steals his bag away and shucks it onto his own shoulder. “Uh, thanks,” he says, “but you really didn’t have to—”

“There’s stuff in the kitchen if you’re hungry,” Butters interrupts, _again_ , “don’t go messing around with the walk-in freezer though – I’ll get grounded for sure if Uncle Budd finds out we got into his game.”

“His game?”

“Yeah! You know, from the animals he hunts!” Butters explains cheerily, before wiggling his fingers at Kyle, “I’ll go take your stuff up, geez, this is heavy, have fun Kyle!”

“Wha— wait, _Butters_!” Kyle calls out, “there’s whiskey in the ba— and he’s gone. Goddammit.”

He folds his arms across his chest as Butters disappears up the stairs. The top floor hosts all the bedrooms and communal bathrooms, with each bedroom suitable for two people. Last time, he had shared a room with Kenny – he sincerely hopes that hasn’t changed because Kenny is a surprisingly decent roommate who keeps to himself. Probably too much, in hindsight.

As he curses Butters under his breath, Kyle’s eyes drift across the chilly room. Clyde is squished on the sofa between Token and Bebe, looking like he’s reached a whole new state of nirvana; Nichole watches Clyde with a bemused expression and Kyle feels a stab of envy at the level of trust she has in her boyfriend, Token. He doesn’t think he could handle watching someone else drape themselves over his significant other, but whatever. Heidi, on the other hand, looks totally conflicted whilst staring at Bebe perched on Clyde’s lap. Kyle guesses Bebe’s declaration of ‘ _dibs_ ’ hadn't been in total vain.

It’s kinda cute, he thinks.

He’s about to join them and find out how they’re doing when – “Oh dude, _weak_!” – he finds himself suddenly distracted.

Kyle blanches at the familiar voice and drags his gaze towards the kitchen. Kenny had warned him that Cartman had intended on coming – Kyle supposes it had been too much to wish for the asshole to have had a change of heart.

He drifts towards the kitchen and steels himself for whatever awaits him. He hasn’t spoken to Cartman once since he left for Stanford, bar one drunken text message that he doesn’t think Cartman intended on sending. He had spent longer than he cared to admit just reading the tiny words on his screen before deleting the whole thing in a fit of rage.

Just remembering Cartman’s audacious text has his veins burning with irritation.

Marching into the kitchen, he folds his arms as he drinks in the sight before him. Eric Cartman leans against the sink with an easy smirk on his face – his body is still stocky, and he has soft stubble decorating his face which, for some reason, just inflames the fire that burns inside Kyle’s body. Cartman’s white Henley stretches across his body, peeking out from beneath a burgundy jacket, and Kyle can’t help but scoff at the gold chain that rests around Cartman’s neck – he truly looks like a conman, through and through.

Which, he supposes, makes _sense_ considering the asshole is doing a joint law and business degree at Harvard.

The fact that Cartman even got into Harvard in the first place is still beyond his comprehension.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” a soft voice calls out, instantly extinguishing any negativity flickering under Kyle’s skin. He huffs out a laugh when, for the third time that night, he’s enveloped into a tight hug. Kenny’s sweet face beams up at him – it’s hard to feel negative feelings around Kenny. The blond radiates joyful, carefree energy and Kyle is just overwhelmed with how much he’s actually missed him.

“Hey Kenny,” he murmurs, tucking himself against Kenny’s body, burying his nose into the messy, tangled blond nest before him. Kenny smells fresh, like the snow outside and his body feels strong in Kyle’s arms. Despite getting into Denver Community College, Kenny had decided to defer a year before heading off to get his psychology degree, so he spends most of his time either working his ass off for money or working his ass off at the gym. It sucks – Kenny’s family needs the money more than Kenny needs the education, which on some level, Kyle understands.

But he still feels pissed on Kenny’s behalf.

“Hey there handsome,” Kenny replies, tugging himself back with a toothy grin. Kenny’s teeth are hopelessly crooked and there’s a noticeable gap, but his smile is endlessly sweet, complete with dimples and laughter lines, “glad you could make it.”

“Shut the fuck up dude,” Kyle replies, feeling his cheeks heat up. He knows Kenny doesn’t mean to flirt, it’s just a natural deflection tactic to hide whatever the fuck is really going on inside his head – it reminds Kyle of Kenny’s alter-ego, Princess Kenny, except this time there appears to be a distinct lack of murder and betrayal, so Kyle doesn’t really mind the blond falling back into his old tricks.

It slightly stings that Kenny feels like he has to hide his true self away from Kyle though, but maybe he’s feeling a little on edge too – there’s just a general vibe about Uncle Budd’s mountain lodge that has Kyle’s nerves prickling with anxious energy and it seems like Kenny is feeling it too.

It’s pretty understandable, given what happened last time.

Kyle scans Kenny’s face carefully and is frustrated when he finds himself unable to read the slightest glimmer of emotion on the blond’s face. Kenny is a master of hiding his feelings and it only serves to wind Kyle up ‘cause they’re supposed to be friends, Christ – he knows that trying to prod at Kenny will only have the blond clamming up more, so instead, Kyle relies on a more tactile approach. He reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind Kenny’s ear and tugs it gently; when he has Kenny’s full attention, he squeezes Kenny’s shoulder gently and smiles at him, soft and open.

“If you ever want to bounce the fuck outta here,” he says, “just let me know. We can go hit up that creepy old guy and get shit-faced before he kills us and dismembers our bodies.”

As he predicts, Kenny’s marble expression melts away as the blond falls apart in a fit of giggles. Kenny has a fucked-up sense of humour but Kyle kinda likes it.

“He was pretty cool though,” Kenny says, grinning, “like, you _know_ that dude did some fucked-up shit when he was our age.”

“Somehow I doubt his fucked-up shit can beat our fucked-up shit,” Kyle muses wryly.

Kenny giggles and nods. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to beat Cthulhu and Mecha-Streisand,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, “man, no wonder half of us are in therapy – our childhood was a fucking mess.”

Kyle nods easily as he scans the kitchen counter. Damn, he _really_ didn’t need to bring the whiskey – the countertop was covered in bottles of various shapes and sizes, ranging from wine and vodka, to beer and… non-alcoholic cider. He smiles at the sight and makes a mental note to check up on Stan throughout the weekend. It has to be hard, being surrounded by so much alcohol and knowing that he can’t touch a single bottle.

God, Stan really is so much stronger than most people gave him credit for…

“Uh oh,” Kenny says drily, “someone is dreaming about their boyfriend.”

Kyle scowls when Kenny prods his nose sharply – he bats him away and throws him a half-hearted glare.

“You know those jokes are homophobic right?” he asks rhetorically.

Kenny rolls his eyes and holds up a finger, “one, I’m pan, so I’m allowed to make those jokes,” he holds up another finger, “and two, don’t think I didn’t notice your lack of denial there,” he says shrewdly.

Kyle shoves at him. “Because those jokes are so fucking old, I didn’t want to waste my breath denying that shit,” he explains tiredly, “ _again_.” Kenny’s beating a dead fucking horse at this point – jokes about him and Stan being something _more_ have been around for longer than he can really remember. Which, okay, so _maybe_ Stan had unknowingly helped Kyle realise that guys were just as cute as girls, but that didn’t _mean_ anything.

Like, a guy can just acknowledge that another guy is cute without it meaning something, right?

Like, Kenny is pretty as fuck and Token’s hot as hell and Craig is all kinds of gorge—

Okay.

Stop.

Now _this_ is getting really gay.

Kenny shrugs and nods, looking suitably contrite. “Yeah, yeah,” he says airily, “you’re right. The joke’s unoriginal as fuck, I gotta get new content...” he trails off slowly, his lilac-blue eyes flicking over Kyle’s shoulders momentarily, before they refocus with a spark of excitement, “or maybe a new boyfriend for you?”

“Bite me.”

“Yes please.”

Kyle snorts as tears his gaze away from Kenny’s shit-eating grin. He wonders if Kenny’s been here long – he doesn’t look like he’s touched the booze and he seems to be somewhat lucid as well. Contrary to popular belief and though he’s pretty 420-friendly, Kenny doesn’t actually touch drugs, courtesy of his parents’ influence and the fact that he seems to actually want to go to college and do well in life.

Still, stressful situations call for desperate measures and Kyle can see the joint tucked behind Kenny’s right ear, so he knows that he’ll probably have to keep an eye on the blond too. Everyone has their breaking point and just because Kenny’s more resilient than any of them doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his limits too.

They’re probably a lot easier to reach this time around, anyways.

Fuck, he really needs to conduct welfare checks more frequently.

“Well. Um, speaking of boys,” Kyle begins, his tone falsely bright and cheery, “you, uh. Have you spoken to Butt—”

“Nope,” Kenny pops, fast and dismissive all at once.

“Oh, well,” Kyle flounders, “what about—”

“Nope,” Kenny repeats, slapping a hand across Kyle’s mouth, “dude. Seriously? You see me for the first time in months and all you’re gonna do is ask me about boys? Weak.”

Kyle flushes under Kenny’s hand and feels a drop of remorse. He gently tugs Kenny’s hand away and shoots the blond an apologetic look. “Says the asshole who’s teasing me about _Stan_ ,” he says, before he falters under Kenny’s pointed stare, “sorry dude, should I ask you about hot girls instead?”

Kenny snorts and rolls his eyes.

“You should always ask me about hot girls,” he snickers, leaning against the doorframe with a soft hum. He looks tired – he has dark bags under his blue eyes, making them appear more purple than nature probably intended. Kyle frowns slightly and drums his fingers against his thigh, idly wondering what he can say to distract Kenny from whatever is clearly bothering him.

To be honest, as a fellow older brother, there really is only one safe topic to pick.

“I kinda want to ask about Karen, but I don’t want to give you the wrong idea,” Kyle says, “I mean, she’s pretty, but she’s… well, a _baby_.”

Kenny snorts. “I’m also a hundred percent sure Ike would knock you the fuck out,” he snickers, his lilac-blue eyes clear with mirth, “I mean, if I don’t kick your ass first.”

“Pretty sure Tricia would beat you both to it,” Craig suddenly calls out, his dark eyes glittering under the synthetic kitchen lights.

“No one likes an eavesdropper Tucker!” Kyle calls back, irritated. He glances back at Kenny and sure enough, the blond has retreated somewhat back into his shell. Kyle inwardly sighs and once again, wonders what the fuck happened to Kenny to have his friend have such thick walls to hide behind. When he’s sure no one is listening in on their conversation again, Kyle reaches out and pokes at Kenny’s sharp jawline.

“How is she?” Kyle asks again, eager to get Kenny out of the black hole he’s slowly falling into, “Ike only tells me so much; he pretty much writes odes about how pretty she is and how much she makes him laugh and how she’s always there to help him get a Victory Royale. So, nothing substantial.”

Kenny's blank expression flickers slightly. “She's good,” he admits, “doing real good at school – she’s even applying for a job at the local library to help me and Kevin out with shit at home. Kevin told her she doesn’t need to, but she’s stubborn as fuck, so what can a guy do? Thanks for asking dude, but she’s fine,” he finishes softly, a shadow of a smile on his lips.

Kyle’s heart aches and he can’t help but poke at Kenny’s face again.

“Are _you_ fine though?” he asks quietly, insistent and worried.

“Woah, no,” Kenny says, and Kyle almost gets whiplash from how fast Kenny’s closed-off expression melts away to a look of irritation. It’s fake though, Kyle can tell. He definitely needs to keep an eye on his friend over the next couple of days, “you trying to play Team Mom here? You know that’s my territory dude, like, everyone _thinks_ it’s Token, but they’re fucking wrong. I’m the mama duck here and all of you are my fucked-up ducklings, don’t take that shit away from me.”

Kyle blinks.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be a counselor one day,” he states, utterly bemused by Kenny’s rant.

Kenny smirks, but the grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Kick-ass, right?” he asks, “Mackey gave me a shit tonne of brochures about degrees and shit, reckons I have a real chance at making something of my life.” His tone is dry like he’s telling a joke, but Kyle doesn’t get it, so he makes a note to ask Kenny about it later when the blond is in a better mood.

Regardless.

“I’m impressed,” he admits, his brows arching high.

“I’m _impressive_ ,” Kenny winks, nudging Kyle with a hip, “so if shit gets real over the next couple of days, just let me know. I can test my shit out on you – don’t bottle shit up, mm’kay?” he instructs, his voice a perfect imitation of Mr Mackey, “you gotta, you gotta let all that bad stuff out, mm’kay? ‘Cause that’s bad, keeping all the bad stuff in. You gotta let all the bad stuff out, you just, you just gotta let it all out, mm’kay? Just let it all out and, and maybe aim for your good pal, Kenny’s face, mm’kay? He likes it when it hits his face, mm’kay?”

“Gross,” Kyle complains, pushing at Kenny playfully, “don’t say that shit to me in that voice.”

“C’mon,” Kenny wheedles, “I make Mackey sexy, don’t try and deny that shit.”

“Please get out of my life,” Kyle says, clasping a hand to his mouth to hide his smile.

“Let me counsel you hard, mm’kay?” Kenny mimics again, his imitation ruined by his helpless giggles.

“I hate you,” Kyle declares, laughter spilling from beneath his hand as Kenny peers up at him impishly, “I hate you so much!”

“Lying is bad, mm’kay!”

“Stop that!”

It takes a while for their giggles to slowly die down, but when they do, Kyle takes advantage of the small lulling silence to gaze across the kitchen. He can see Cartman from the corner of his eye, but he refuses to pay the guy any notice until he absolutely has to. Instead, he focuses his attention on the other side of the kitchen. Craig and Tweek are leaning against the fridge, which is heavily decorated in fridge magnets spelling out insults and slurs; the word ‘ _pedo_ ’ is holding up what can only be Uncle Budd’s contact details, for emergency purposes only. He could also be contacted, as someone has conveniently written, for a _good time_ too. Kyle wrinkles his nose, before his attention is drawn towards Jimmy, as he creates what can only be described as chemical warfare in a punchbowl. But with more alcohol.

And more fire.

And edible glitter, for some reason.

Kenny’s smile grows a little tighter and Kyle’s heartstrings twang painfully as he remembers why – he squeezes Kenny’s shoulder and inwardly sighs when the blond merely shrugs in response, a sad smile playing on his lips.

“I’m gonna go get fucked up,” Kenny says, throwing Kyle a quick wink before he disappears back into the lounge.

“No drinking outside the lodge!” Kyle calls after him, “no getting high outside the lodge!”

“No promises!” Kenny responds distantly, “and quit it with the Team Mom act!” His words are muffled as they slowly fade amongst the chorus of voices emitting from where their friends are gathered.

Kyle watches him leave, his skin prickling as he finds himself acutely aware of who is left in the kitchen with him. He braces himself and turns around; sure enough, Cartman has his beady heterochromatic eyes on him. One is a clear blue and, like Kenny’s, sometimes look purple under certain lights. The other is a deep brown, but… sometimes, Cartman gets this _look_ on his face that makes his eye gleam red. It’s physically impossible, but a lot of weird shit has happened to Kyle over the years, so Cartman having red eyes isn’t really all that strange.

It certainly isn’t the strangest thing about Cartman, anyways.

Still.

“Kyle,” Cartman greets, his tone nice and slow as he inclines his head with a sharp little grin. It ignites a fire in Kyle’s belly and his hands curl up into tight little fists. He tries to countdown from ten, he really does… but seeing Cartman in the flesh just does dangerous things to his restraint and impulsivity. Kenny has a few bullshit theories about why Kyle feels the way he does towards Cartman – none that Kyle cares to hear about – but it still unnerves him to acknowledge the fact that no one has this effect on him except Cartman.

They might be friends, but.

Well.

 _Butters_ may have forgiven Cartman for what happened last time, but Kyle sure as shit didn’t.

“Cartman,” he responds through gritted teeth, “I’m surprised Butters let you through the front door.”

Cartman’s grin widens, his teeth sharp and white. “I’m surprised your bitch mom let you outta her sight, could’ve sworn she was gonna chain you to her bed after last year,” he says, his words lazy, but Kyle can taste the taunt threading through them. The slight against his mom grates against his nerves too and it has him rearing up in abject fury.

“Well I’m surprised you’re here without police supervision!” he spits back, “considering what you fucking did last year!”

“I’m surprised anyone even wanted _you_ back here,” Cartman shoots back easily, “considering what you _said_ last year.”

“Well… well I’m surprised you…” Kyle flounders for a second before he’s hit with sudden inspiration, “I’m surprised you were even allowed to come at all. Thought the crazy house was keeping you locked up tight!” It isn’t exactly a low-blow, but it also isn’t common knowledge that Cartman has recently undergone some _major_ intensive therapy. Dude’s bounced from therapist to therapist for years and Kyle knows that Cartman hadn’t taken it seriously at first, but then last year happened and Liane, apparently, snapped and threatened her son with an ultimatum.

He either went to some specialist mental facility during the summer vacation, or he could kiss his Harvard dream goodbye.

Doesn’t take a genius to figure out which option he chose.

“I’m surprised you know that,” Cartman says, his eyes lighting up, “you keeping tabs on me, Kyle? You spying on me now? Didn’t know you cared that much.”

“Wha—no!” Kyle protests, his body tight with anger, his arms shaking as his clenches his fists tighter. His nails bite into the soft flesh of his palm, but the sting isn’t enough to distract him, “your mom told me, Christ.”

“You speak to my mom?” Cartman asks, his demeanour suddenly changing – he looks honestly intrigued and the change of pace is almost enough to give Kyle whiplash.

“I used to. I mean, how else was I supposed to know how you were last summer,” Kyle replies honestly, before kicking himself when he realises how he sounds; it’s just. Y’know, a little insulting that Cartman _hadn’t_ told him he was fucking off to some three-month-long, intensive mental-health journey. Sue him, he was bitter as fuck.

Predictably, Cartman’s face lights up eagerly.

“You asked my mom about me?” he grins, before a series of chuckles fall from his lips.

“Well, no shit,” Kyle says, averting his gaze, “it’s not like you let me visit you when you were inpatient. Like yeah, sure, let Stan and Kenny come and see you, but not me?”

Cartman’s laughter dies as he regards Kyle with surprise. “Didn’t think you _wanted_ to visit me,” he admits, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looks almost sheepish and Kyle feels his resolve soften slightly.

“You’re an asshole,” he says, “but we’re still fucking friends. Jesus. Do you honestly think I’d let you get away with half the shit you did to me if I didn’t consider you my goddamn friend?”

Cartman’s brows rise higher and higher, until they’re almost hidden beneath his fluffy fringe. Kyle’s anger diminishes somewhat, but he’s still irritated that, after all these fucking years, Cartman still underestimates their friendship.

“I did think it was weird a couple of times,” Cartman says, slowly, “just figured it was a religious thing, y’know. The whole, _forgiveness_ spiel. That’s what you people do, isn’t it?”

Kyle blinks. Peers at the clock. Sighs heavily.

“Wow. That didn’t even take ten minutes,” he mutters under his breath, “gotta be a damn record.”

“First sign of madness that,” Cartman says, his smirk returning to his face, “talking to yourself. I would know, I used to do it _aaall_ the time.”

“Is the second sign of madness destroying the world with Cthulhu?” Kyle asks pointedly.

Cartman clucks his tongue thoughtfully, leaning against the sink with a wicked smile. “I think the whole chili-thing came first,” he muses, before he perks up with excitement, “or the stem-cell Shakey’s – do you remember that Kyle? Good times, good times.”

“When the hell did you make a stem-cell Shakey’s?” Kyle asks, wracking his brain for that little incident. Cartman watches him with an unreadable expression, before a look that resembles realisation flutters across his face. He holds up his hand and waves Kyle’s question away.

“Must’ve dreamed it,” he says airily, his eyes skittering towards the lounge before they return to focus upon Kyle, “but whilst we’re on this little trip on memory lane—”

“—I do not consent to this trip—”

“Remember that time we got babies addicted to crack and made them fight?”

“— _you_ did that—”

“Or that time when we made our own WWE show? God, I rock as Bad Irene – don’t give me that look, asshole, I’m a hot bitch, no one pulls drag off like I do—"

“—I think Kenny might have something to say about that—”

“—oh! And when I ate all that gold,” Cartman ignores him, “holy shit, I don’t think I’ve ever been so pissed off when I found out it was all fake. Jesus, I ate so much of that crap too.”

“Your lack of gag reflex both amazes and terrifies me,” Kyle notes, feeling himself gag as he remembers Cartman _literally_ shitting out fake gold. Fucking hell, how was the asshole still alive?

“It does, does it? Oh Kyle, you dirty girl,” Cartman cackles, his eyes gleaming red and purple – Kyle flushes horribly under the gaze and kicks himself for not thinking before speaking.

“Wait, don’t make it dirty, I didn’t mean anything like that!” he protests, his face prickling uncomfortably as Cartman waltzes out of the kitchen, laughing loudly at his expense, “fuck! You fucking asshole, that’s not what I— and he’s gone. Goddammit.”

Kyle sighs heavily as he inwardly, and angrily, imagines up all the ways he could’ve won that argument despite it being far too late now.

There’s a small beat of silence, when—

“You two have the _lamest_ foreplay, seriously,” Craig intones, his nasal voice loud in the suddenly quiet and empty kitchen. The light giggles of Tweek and Jimmy has Kyle groaning in response, cursing under his breath as he turns to throw a glare at Craig, who is leaning against the fridge with an indolent expression on his face.

“Suck a dick,” Kyle throws out tiredly, running a hand through his thick curls as he makes his way over to the other guys in the kitchen.

“Oh, I plan to,” Craig quips back, side-eyeing Tweek lazily who bites his lip in response.

Kyle had thought Stan and Wendy sucked when it came to PDA – Christ, had he ever been fucking wrong about that one.

He comes to a halt next to Craig and eyes the couple curiously – it’s been a while since he’s last seen them and distantly, he acknowledges the fact that the cockles of his heart are warmed by the sight of them together and so obviously in love. He can’t acknowledge it loudly, because, well.

 _Kenny_.

Kyle cocks his head and quietly watches the three guys before him. Craig is still a tall-ass bastard, with a slender body and delicate wrists; his throat is dotted with hickeys and his hand is tightly entwined with Tweek’s, who is laughing helplessly at whatever Jimmy is whispering to him. Tweek looks immeasurably healthy, with a soft body and flushed cheeks; he looks bright-eyed and chilled, smacking Jimmy's impressive biceps with a playful fist. Kyle’s interest is absently piqued, but he finds he can’t tear his eyes away from the matching rings that Craig and Tweek are wearing.

“What the fuck are those?” he asks, before he can really think about what he’s saying. He points at their hands, where their fingers are threaded together in a way that perfectly shows off the glimmering black bands they have on. He knows he looks like a fucking idiot, with a gaping mouth and wide eyes, but he’s honestly so shocked.

And… a little _peeved_.

“You never seen a ring before, Broflovski?” Craig deadpans, a smirk tugging at his lips, “rings are circular pieces of metal designed to fit around fingers; also known as a piece of jewellery you will never experience having if you keep being an invasive asshole.”

Tweek snorts and shoves at him.

“Behave,” he admonishes lightly before turning to Kyle, “we were planning on telling everyone later, but… we’re getting married once Craig graduates from Aurora!” His entire body is vibrating, but Kyle is sure that it isn’t from anxiety, but actually excitement for once. It’s quite cute and—

Wait.

 _Married_?

Kyle blinks.

“But,” he begins, halting and unsure, “he just started college?”

 _And you’re literally eighteen_ , one internal voice thinks wildly.

 _Does Kenny know, does Kenny know, does Kenny know_ , another chants frantically, ‘cause fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , he’s not ready for this height of potential damage control.

Tweek smiles crookedly, glancing up at Craig with a knowing glint in his eye. “Exactly,” he says, “it’ll give his lazy ass some good motivation to actually study and work hard,” he says, leaning against Craig with a soft hum. Kyle’s eyes fall to their conjoined hands – though Tweek’s is trembling slightly, his grip remains tight, his fingers solidly linked with Craig’s.

“You know a college degree isn’t gonna pay for a wedding,” Craig says flatly, his tone almost unimpressed, but Kyle can see the light flush on his tanned skin, “especially one in _cinematography_.”

“Neither will my shifts at the coffee shop,” Tweek replies shrewdly, “but we’ll make it work. We always do.”

Kyle bites his lip as Jimmy softly coos at them.

“Well shit,” he mutters, turning to Jimmy with a coy look, “don’t suppose you also made that bet with Timmy?”

“Of course not,” Jimmy grins, “Tim-Tim never lets me duh-duh-down.”

“Bet?” Tweek queries, cocking his head as he glances up at Kyle with a suspicious gleam in his eye, “what bet?”

Kyle rubs the back of his neck nervously – it’s rare that any of his friends can intimidate him, but he’s seen Tweek go up against dudes twice the size of him, so he’d be stupid to not be a _little_ wary of the guy.

“I figured Stan and Wendy would be the first to get engaged,” he shrugs, averting his eyes, “Timmy told me I was a dumbass bitch ‘cause clearly you two were gonna get hitched first,” he pauses, his body deflating sadly, “goddammit, I _am_ a dumbass bitch.”

“Well, I could’ve told you that.”

“Shut up Jimmy.”

Craig’s eyes light up. “How much did you bet?” he asks curiously.

Kyle wrinkles his nose. “Twenty bucks,” he admits.

Craig scowls and shakes his head. “Can you believe this shit, honey?” he asks, tilting his head until it rests gently atop Tweek’s, “this asshole thinks we’re only worth $20.”

Tweek shakes his head too, looking playfully disappointed – his acting skills are as sharp as ever, as Kyle feels a twinge of guilt ripple in his stomach. “And he says he’s our _friend_ ,” Tweek sighs, before straightening up and nudging at Craig softly, “how much do you think we’re worth?”

“Oh honey,” Craig breathes, nosing at Tweek’s hair sweetly. It’s cute and gross all at once and Kyle has to take a step back, ‘cause he has his limits for PDA and these two assholes always seem to find new ways to break them, “you’re priceless~!”

“Aw, Craig~!”

Kyle can almost pinpoint the moment where he ceases to exist to the couple before him and he merely shakes his head as he snatches up a cold bottle of beer. He leaves Craig and Tweek to desecrate the nearest available surface in peace and wanders back into the lounge, where everyone is gathered by the fire that Wendy has finally started. He hears the distinct _snick_ , _snick_ , _snick_ of Jimmy’s crutches, which lets him know that the guy is also hightailing it outta there.

Kyle shoots him a knowing smirk; Jimmy just grins and winks in return before they refocus their attention back to their friends.

“Okay guys!” Butters is saying, clasping his hands together as he observes the room with a bright smile on his face, “my Uncle Budd won’t be back until Monday, so we have all weekend to have some fun—”

Kyle overhears Cartman mutter to Kenny under his breath; he’s snickering about how he knows Uncle Budd probably wanted to join in on their fun, but the asshole’s mean words are cut off when Kenny elbows him sharply in the gut. He smirks and turns to share a knowing look with Stan – yeah, he could deal with being in close quarters with Cartman for two whole days.

This is gonna be totally fine.

“—bags are in your rooms, so I figured we could spend a li’l time, well, a li’l time catching up with each other! Oh, we could make S’mores, drink some cocoa, it’ll be like the good old days, right fellas?” Butters finishes, bouncing lightly on his toes as he observes the room with an expectant smile. The silence rings loud, only broken by the distant moans that echo from the kitchen – Kyle sees Kenny wince slightly, the blond ducking his head to hide his face amongst the lopsided scarf which hangs loosely around his neck. His heart aches and he realises that he’s been incredibly selfish.

Here he is, worrying about being around fucking _Cartman_ for the weekend, when Kenny’s here, stuck with—

“I think what the kind man is trying to say,” Clyde announces loudly, abruptly snapping Kyle from his thoughts, as he jumps to his feet to approach the large sound system, “is that it’s time to let loose!” He plugs in his phone and Kyle knows that Clyde is loading up one of his legendary party playlists – there’s at least seven that exist and they all range from incredibly cheesy to incredibly terrible.

Stan says that they all sound like shit – Kyle is inclined to agree, but he wisely keeps his opinions to himself for once. His friends look far too eager to see what Clyde is going to load up, although… he’s pretty fucking sure they’re more eager to move Butters’ attention away from them. He guesses everyone is feeling a little unbalanced and yet, they all turned up anyways.

It’s amazing what a massive mountain lodge can do to one’s sense of moral integrity.

“Alright bitches!” Clyde declares, the heavy bass erupting from the speakers to echo around the house and vibrate throughout their bodies, “[let’s get this party started](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tLp3KCqVAxw)!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~**WHO SHOULD KYLE TALK TO?** ~~ **  
>  ~~**STAN & WENDY or KENNY & CARTMAN** ~~ ******
> 
> ******YOUR CHOICE HAS BEEN MADE** ** **


	2. ACT ONE: Kyle I

**KYLE CHOSE TO SPEAK TO KENNY & CARTMAN**

**12.05AM**

[The bass drops](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyI4v5sxT54) and so does Kyle’s expectations for the weekend ahead.

He’s tucked in an alcove, peering at a photo of a baby Butters giggling on the lap of grinning Uncle Budd – the image leaves a bad taste in his mouth, so Kyle carefully turns the photograph around, wrinkling his nose as he escapes the beady gaze of Butters’ creepy uncle.

He sips slowly from his beer and turns to cast his gaze across the lounge.

Clyde is busy having a dance-off with Bebe, their limbs and hair flying around the air as they wildly bop to the beat. It’s a fucking hideous song to dance to, but somehow, they’re making it work. They’re giggling and throwing taunts at each other – they’re probably the most amicable pair of exes Kyle has ever seen. They act more like siblings than anything else, despite Clyde still flirting with her at every chance he can get.

Token and Nichole are curled up in a loveseat together, sharing a glass of Jimmy’s catastrophic concoction – there’s a thin layer of glittering liquid that clings to Token’s upper lip and Nichole wipes it off for him with a soft smile. Their legs are a tangled mess and the love is clear on their faces, only highlighted by the light of the flickering flame from the fireplace.

In the centre of the room, he sees Butters trying to wrangle Jimmy and Heidi into a game of Truth or Dare. Heidi is too busy covertly watching Bebe from over Butters’ shoulder and Jimmy is trying to bat him away by using his crutches. The blond is impossibly stubborn though – Kyle knows it will take a lot more than a pair of crutches to get Butters to cease being annoying.

Everyone is giving the kitchen a wide berth right now, and understandably so.

"C-Craig~!"

"Fuck, Tweek!"

Kyle chances a glance as he walks past it and blanches at the sight of Craig perched in Tweek’s lap – they’re so fucking gross when they’re not being obscenely adorable.

He wrinkles his nose at the sounds of gasped names and stuttered moans and takes another long sip of beer. He glances over at the fireplace, where Stan and Wendy are trying hard to warm up their hands. They're leaning against each other, smiling softly as they share a private moment – he can hear them giggling and it’s hopelessly endearing. It's also a distinct difference to Kenny and Cartman, who are almost hidden underneath the staircase, whispering heatedly to each other with matching stony expressions.

He falters as he moves towards Stan and Wendy – pauses, then pads towards Kenny and Cartman. 

Whatever they’re talking about looks fucking intense. Kenny’s eyes have darkened to a venomous shade of violet and Cartman’s eyes are flashing purple and red. Kyle’s never seen them look so serious before and to be honest, he already has an idea as to what they’re talking about. Quietly, so he doesn’t really alert them to his presence, he walks up behind them and listens in, placing his empty bottle down on a nearby table.

“—think I want to be here either?” Kenny asks snippily – Kyle can see that his eyebrows are knitted together, a wrinkle of frustration appearing faintly between them.

“Like you’d be one to pass up a free holiday,” Cartman says with a scoff, “tell me, when was the last time you could actually afford to leave your squat?”

“Dude, shut the fuck up,” Kenny cuts in, his tone tired and irritated all at once, “I’m only here ‘cause _you_ fucking asked me to come.”

“No one likes a martyr Kenny,” Cartman responds, wagging his finger in Kenny’s face like he’s the guy’s fucking _mom_. Kyle rolls his eyes at the same time as Kenny.

“Then why’re so many of them saints?”

“Kenny, you poor, dumb fuck; saints stay dead, so don’t try that shit with me.”

Kyle blinks when Kenny erupts, a litany of curses and demands for Cartman to ‘shut the fuck up’ spilling from his lips. Kyle doesn’t really get why Kenny is so angry, nor does he understand why Cartman would even say such a thing. Clearly, there’s something deeper going on here and it’s got nothing to do with last year’s party. Kyle feels something itch under his skin, kinda like dissatisfaction, but also kinda like he’s being left out of an inside joke.

It’s fucking annoying, to say the least.

“I don’t know why you just don’t tell these assholes; it’s not like it would be the weirdest thing these dickwads have heard of.”

“Dude, I tried telling them once… I’m not doing it again.”

Kyle’s heart aches at the wounded tone which colours Kenny’s words – furrowing his brows, he tries to remember a time where Kenny disclosed some deep, personal shit to him. Honestly, apart from Kenny admitting he was applying for college, Kyle can’t really remember his friend ever talking about serious shit that would upset him on _this_ level.

Fuck.

“Alright, but you’re missing out on some major potential shit by keeping it to yourself.”

“I’m not joining your snuff empire, Eric,” Kenny says flatly, looking utterly unimpressed.

“Bro, weak. Think of the _money_ we’d make.”

“No,” Kenny spits back, shoving at Cartman, “think of the money _you’d_ make. We tried this, remember? I turned into your snuff cam-boy and made _zero_ profit, you fucking bastard!”

Kyle’s head hurts as he tries to connect the dots, ‘cause like, ‘ _snuff cam-boy_ ’? What the fuck does that even _mean_? He hums thoughtfully as his mind creates an abstract picture he can’t quite figure out just yet, but goddammit, he will. He’ll have to hound Kenny down later; Kyle hates mysteries and he hates being out of the loop.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you didn’t read the small print.”

“You asshole, you wrote it in white ink!”

He _especially_ hates it when it’s a loop that _Cartman’s_ fucking created.

There’s a small rattle that draws Kyle’s attention back to the present – he flicks his gaze up and sees Cartman knocking back a pill from a small orange cylinder. He pops the lid back on and tucks the bottle away inside his jacket. He then chases it down with a large mouthful of beer that would even make Stan wince.

Well.

 _Fuck_.

He had known Cartman had been seeing a therapist, but he hadn’t known the guy had actually been _prescribed_ shit.

Damn – Liane hadn’t been playing around when she had snapped.

“Should you even be drinking with that shit?” Kenny asks, concern colouring his tone, “dude, I’m pissed at you, but don’t go dying tonight, that shit ain’t vibing with me.”

“Christ, plug your vagina Kenny, I’m fine. Besides, I’ve been cutting down; I don’t think I even _need_ this crap anymo—”

“Dude, _what the fuck_ —”

“Cutting down on what?” Kyle asks, squinting at the pair as they jump apart in surprise. He’s had enough of secrets in their little group and he’s fucking tired of drama going down in this stupid lodge. He places his hands on his hips and levels them both with a stony look. Kenny’s expression quickly smooths over an easy smile, his blue eyes shuttering slightly; it’s an odd look compared to Cartman, who simply arches a brow and takes a pointed sip of beer.

“I’m cutting down on your bitch-ass bullshit, Kyle.”

“That makes _no_ sense—”

“Hey Kyle, were you creeping on us?” Kenny asks, teasing and coy as he pads over to Kyle. He pokes him softly in the cheek and gasps with delight when Kyle pretends to bite at it.

“I wasn’t _creeping_ —” he begins denying, absently aware that he’s completely fallen for Kenny’s distraction, hook, line and sinker.

“‘Cause you totally called Craig out for eavesdropping before and I’d hate for you to be a fucking hypocrite,” Kenny interjects, before jabbing a thumb in Cartman’s direction, “I mean, we already have one of _those_.”

“Fuck you Kenny!”

“In your dreams, fat boy!”

“I’m not fat, I’m buff!”

Kyle sighs and glances over his shoulder at Stan and Wendy – maybe he should have interrupted their cute moment instead. Definitely would’ve been given less grief, at least. They do look pretty sweet though – it’s a moment they probably won’t get to have again this weekend, so Kyle feels oddly glad that he’s given them some time alone.

“Hey, you tired of spying on us already? Already scoping out the next couple to gate-crash?” Kenny asks, his voice shockingly loud next to Kyle’s ear. Kyle flinches away and bats at Kenny’s face which is way too close for comfort – like, Kyle could probably count all of his freckles and his eyelashes, he’s that uncomfortably close.

“Don’t call us a couple,” Cartman sighs tiredly.

“What, you think you’re too good for me sweet-cheeks?” Kenny throws back at him with a saucy wriggle of his eyebrows.

“Like I’d actually touch your disease-ridden ass.”

“You’d be _lucky_ to touch my ass, you lying sonuvabi—"

“Why did I even bother coming over here?” Kyle queries aloud, his gaze flittering between Kenny and Cartman with increasing regret.

“Because you _love_ us,” Kenny is quick to reply, before he gestures over Kyle’s shoulder, towards Stan and Wendy, “but apparently you love _them_ more, so I guess we’ll go fuck ourselves, huh Cartman?”

“I don’t love them more,” Kyle protests half-heartedly, “I’m just not gonna interrupt them. They look kinda,” he searches for a good enough word, “cozy?” he finishes lamely.

Kenny scoffs and slings an arm around Kyle’s shoulders – he’s fucking tiny though, thanks to years of malnourishment, so Kyle has to stifle a snort when he spies Kenny standing on his tip-toes to reach.

“I highly doubt you would’ve caused offense by gate-crashing dude,” Kenny murmurs, soft and low, like he’s revealing a secret.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how much they clearly want you, dude,” Kenny snorts, before his eyes flick over to Cartman momentarily. The glance is too quick for Kyle to even read whatever emotion Kenny was trying to convey and he probably would’ve questioned it if wasn’t for the fact that Kenny’s words totally just caused his mind to crash.

“You… wait, what?” Kyle stammers, acutely aware that his face is burning red. His gaze skitters to Cartman who seems to have lost interest in the conversation and is peering off into the distance, a faint furrow between his brows, “dude, you can’t say that!”

Kenny grins and places his hands atop Kyle’s hips before forcibly turning him around. Kyle suddenly finds himself staring at Stan and Wendy – they’re still tucked against the fireplace, their faces shadowed by the flames. Wendy is gently touching Stan’s cheeks as he holds her carefully by the hips. Kyle feels something echo hollowly in his stomach, despite the warm feelings that blossom in his chest. He wonders if it’s envy that’s burning inside him… he’s just not sure who or what he’s jealous of, exactly.

Kyle winces when he suddenly feels Kenny’s sharp chin hook over his shoulder and squirms as the blond hair tickles at this throat.

“Cute, ain’t they?” he murmurs, soft as he speaks straight into the crook of Kyle’s neck. The words vibrate throughout his throat, his skin rippling with goosepimples, “I’ve always had a thing for a tall, dark and handsome – who knew we shared the same taste?”

“You don’t have ‘a taste’ Kenny – you have a goddamn spectrum, you dirty skank,” Cartman mutters from behind them.

They don’t pay him an iota of attention.

“What did I say about those shitty jokes?” Kyle protests, pushing Kenny’s face away from him.

“Aw, one more, just one more and then I’ll stop,” he croons, holding Kyle fast against his body, “I _promise_.”

“Dude, stop that,” Kyle hisses, urgently wriggling out of Kenny’s grip. Kenny’s arms are disturbingly strong, and it takes him a good fucking minute to escape the blond’s clutches.

“ _C’mon_ , polyamory is all the rage right now.”

“ _Dude_!”

“Jesus Kenny, just because you’re a fucking degenerate doesn’t mean we all have to be,” Cartman chips in, looking oddly incensed for someone who wasn’t even part of the conversation.

“Man, it’s the twenty-first century,” Kenny rolls his eyes, “who _isn’t_ a degenerate in this economy?”

Cartman levels him with an unimpressed glare, before a wicked grin slowly curls on his lips – Kyle’s skin itches uncomfortably and a sour taste floods his mouth. He knows exactly what Cartman is thinking, but surely the asshole couldn’t sink _that_ low?

“Oh, I don’t know,” he muses loudly, “I can think of a few guys who probably wouldn’t agree with you,” he snaps his fingers, “hey, why don’t we ask them!” He turns and cups a hand around his mouth, “hey! Butters! Could you come here for a se— _ow_! Jesus, fuck Kenny! It was just a joke, what, you can’t even afford a sense of humour these days?”

Well.

Why was Kyle even surprised?

“Do you need me fellas?” Butters calls out.

“No dude,” Kyle replies without looking at him, “false alarm!”

“Well, okay then!”

Kyle joins Kenny in glaring at Cartman – the bastard sniffs pathetically as he rubs at his arm. Though Kyle can resist, he knows it’s only a matter of time before Kenny folds. The blond has a notorious soft spot for sad things; normally those things tend to be children, like Karen when she gets hurt, or even Ike when he fails to win whatever video game is doing the rounds, but Cartman isn’t Kenny’s best friend for no reason.

Sure enough, after a small beat of silence, Kenny’s head falls back as he sighs heavily, completely caving under Cartman’s ridiculous rendition of puppy-eyes.

“I’m not apologising, you fucking deserved it,” he holds up his hands when Cartman rears up, indignant and offended, “but, I am gonna do you the favour of _not_ kicking your ass and walking away instead,” he bites out, his clear blue eyes flash violet for a second, before a sweet smile covers it up, “I know when I’m not wanted anyways,” his tone is bitter and it’s a jarring juxtaposition to his soft expression. He scans the room absently before his smile turns sharp. He throws Kyle a wicked smirk before sauntering away, throwing his hands up. “If _you_ don’t want my matchmaking skills—”

“Kenny, what are you—” Kyle tries, before getting cut off.

“—I’m gonna go hang out with someone who does!” Kenny declares, before making a beeline towards a distinctly unhappy Heidi. Butters is leaving her alone for the moment, he’s too busy having a terrible pillow fight with Jimmy, so the girl is curled up the sofa, throwing mournful glances at Bebe.

It’s kinda sad – her whole aura just radiates conflicted misery.

Kyle frowns and tilts his head as Kenny wanders off.

“Dude, wha—”

“ _Weak_ ,” Cartman declares loudly, drowning out Kyle’s words.

A flicker of irritation ignites and engulfs his body completely.

“— _stop_ interrupting me, I’m so goddamn _sick_ of everyone interrupting me tonight, what the _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you all, just let me fucking _speak_!” Kyle snaps, unintentionally gaining the attention of everyone in the room – even the sounds from the kitchen paused for a moment.

“Oh, shit guys,” Cartman gasps out, holding up his hands as he leans away from Kyle, “it’s happening, remember your training, he’s going Jersey on us! Duck and cover, everyone man for himself – and _herself_ , god, feel free to stop glaring at me Bebe, you dumb bitch. Jesus Christ, Clyde, unclench your asshole, you ain’t even dating her anymore, quit with the white-knighting, you fuc—"

“Shut up Cartman!” Kyle demands.

The beat of silence stretches – the only thing to disturb it is the [harsh thuds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofmzX1nI7SE) echoing from the speakers, as well as the return of Craig and Tweek doing whatever the fuck they were doing in the kitchen.

Cartman arches a brow.

Kyle’s eye twitches.

Someone coughs awkwardly.

“ _Dude_ , seriously? Don’t interrupt me, that’s way rude,” Cartman finally says, and the sound that Kyle emits at that moment could only be compared to a war-cry from a warrior who’s been fighting the good fight for years, only to realise that his reason for fighting was all for naught – his family has been dead all along, his commander is actually the villain, and he has literally been on the wrong side of history all this time – thus leading to a hollow victory and a heavy sense of betrayal, cutting him deeper than any sword possible could. It’s as if years of putting up with consistent, unrelenting bullshit has amalgamated together, leading to a meltdown of Shakespearian proportions. It’s hypnotising to watch and horrifying to bear witness to – his scream is a song which promises divine retribution and devastation to all those who hear it.

Cartman simply smiles weakly; he looks like he’s praying for a quick death.

Unfortunately for him, Kyle is _not_ that merciful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KYLE SUCCESSFULLY DIFFUSED THE TENSION BETWEEN KENNY & CARTMAN  
>  **KYLE LOST THE CHANCE TO GET CLOSER TO STAN & WENDY****
> 
> ******~~WHAT SHOULD KYLE ASK CARTMAN?~~   
>  ~~**\- HOW IS LIANE DOING?** ~~ **  
>  ~~**\- WHAT ARE THE MEDS FOR?** ~~ **  
>  **~~\- ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE NOT JEALOUS OF KENNY?~~ ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> **************YOUR CHOICE HAS BEEN MADE** ** ** ** ** ** **


	3. ACT ONE: Kyle II | Craig I

**KYLE CHOSE TO ASK CARTMAN ABOUT LIANE**

**12.18AM**

Everyone quickly loses interest as Kyle and Cartman begin fighting again.

Shrieking with frustration, Kyle skillfully avoids Cartman’s attacks and punches him hard on the arm – whilst Cartman whines and tends to his barely-there wound, Kyle takes the moment to peer after Kenny. He watches as the blond settles on the sofa next to Heidi – the girl’s stormy expression clears up instantly, a façade of cheer replacing it. Whatever Kenny says to her has Heidi tensing up, her shoulders hunched up protectively as her gaze falls to her lap. Kenny nudges her with a grin, his lips moving too quickly for Kyle to really get a grasp on what he’s murmuring.

Regardless, his words have Heidi giggling and pushing at his chest playfully; in response, Kenny wraps an arm around her shoulder and throws a smug glance at Bebe over her head.

Kyle honestly can’t tell if Kenny is trying to hook them up or hook up with Heidi himself.

He hopes it isn’t the latter; like this group needs any more fucking drama taking place in this goddamn lodge, especially Kenny-centric drama, Christ.

“Think we should tell her he has herpes?” Cartman murmurs to him lowly. Kyle blinks up at him – Cartman’s eyes are heavy-lidded as he watches Kenny cozy up to his ex-girlfriend. Heidi and the girls are quite vocal in their loathing of Cartman, but Kyle’s never really asked Cartman how he feels about them, and _Heidi_ especially, in return.

If he feels anything in general, that is.

“What, so she can go running back to your arms?” he snorts, elbowing Cartman softly.

“Like I’d take that skank back,” he mutters back, averting his eyes.

Kyle eyes him coolly – he really can’t read Cartman’s expression. He bites his lip; it’s been pretty chill, hanging with Cartman and getting to have a normal conversation with the asshole. He doesn’t want to ruin this weird level of civility that’s somehow developed between them, so he wracks his mind for something safe to talk about, something that will take Cartman’s mind off of Heidi and whatever bullshit that seems to be brewing between them.

He worries his lip shortly before he makes his decision.

“So,” he says, awkwardly, “how’s your mom?”

Predictably, Cartman snorts in response. “Shouldn’t I be asking _you_ that question?”

“Dude, I haven’t spoken to her in months,” Kyle protests, because he kinda underestimated how busy he’d be at Stanford, especially in the first few weeks. Fuck, the moment he landed in California, he’d been swept under the amount of work and reading he needed to do for his degree. Catching up with Liane Cartman kinda fell down his list of priorities.

Cartman eyes him suspiciously at first, before shrugging, “She’s fine,” he says, noncommittally at first before he finally tears his attention away from Kenny and Heidi to level Kyle with an intrigued look, “she’s no longer a crack-whore, if that’s what you’re curious about.”

“Wha— no!” Kyle cries, shaking his head, “dude, your mom has been pretty cool to me, I just wanted to know how she was!”

Oddly enough, a small smile grows on Cartman’s lips – Kyle has the distinct feeling he’s just been tested and he’s not entirely sure if he’s passed. Or if he even wants to pass.

“She’s fine,” Cartman repeats, “she’s working at Hell’s Pass, teaching art to dying kids – I guess she’s trying to replace me now that I’ve left? Weird, huh?”

Kyle blinks. “No, I don’t think that’s weird at all?” he says, cocking his head, “kinda makes sense. She was pretty good at painting shit and, well… she kinda _sucked_ at making adult friends.”

“Oh, she used to make plenty of adult friends,” Cartman glances away awkwardly as his voice turns bitter, “but it’s whatever dude, I don’t really give a shit. So long as she doesn’t try and actually steal a fucking kid, she can paint whatever the fuck she likes.”

“Dude, give her a break,” Kyle says, “she misses you – I mean, can you blame her? You fucked off to the other side of the country!”

“She’s a grown-ass adult, she can deal,” Cartman sniffs, turning his head away pointedly, “just wish she wasn’t so goddamn _clingy_. Calling me up every night, calling me up every morning, wanting to know when she can visit… it’s ruining my rep, dude.”

Kyle arches a brow – second to Randy Marsh and just in front of his own dad, Cartman has always been the biggest hypocrite in Kyle’s life. His relationship with his mom is notoriously and uncomfortably co-dependent, so Kyle can imagine that it isn’t _just_ Liane who’s been ringing incessantly every morning, noon and night.

He should probably call the asshole out but… he kinda understands the feeling, honestly.

“Yeah, my mom’s got Empty Nest Syndrome too… and she still has _Ike_ ,” he snorts whilst rolling his eyes fondly, “can’t imagine how Liane is feeling, being by herself…”

“Oh, it’s _Liane_ now?” Cartman taunts, eyeing Kyle with something that looks like suspicion, “you trying it on with my mom?”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Please, I’m kinda good for contracting diseases, thanks,” he says, not meaning it in the slightest. He actually _likes_ Cartman’s mom; she was the only one who, back when they still kids, treated their games seriously and mostly let them do whatever they fucking wanted in her home. Plus, her baking skills are literally unmatched and her patience is practically _saintly_ in nature.

Which is why he accepts the punch Cartman throws at him – it’s warranted, for once.

“I’m telling her you said that,” Cartman threatens, “see if she’ll suck your dick then.”

“Dude, don’t talk about your mom like that!”

“Hey, you started it, _dick_!”

“Wow. No wonder you got into _Harvard_ with those amazing argumentative skills,” Kyle comments, wrinkling his nose derisively.

Cartman puffs up his chest and grins widely. “I’m literally the top of my class, don’t fucking go there dude,” he says arrogantly.

Kyle snorts. “Oh really? And how is the fancy Ivy League lifestyle treating you?” he asks, tilting his head curiously; he managed to settle in pretty quickly at Stanford, despite the odd sneer at him being a red-neck, though those comments are far and few between. Still, he can’t really imagine _Cartman_ having such an easy and smooth transition into Harvard.

Cartman’s eyes shutter slightly, an unreadable expression filtering across his face.

“It’s fine,” he says shortly, shrugging, “the people are asshole hippies, but I guess I should’ve expected that from the state of Massachusetts – fucking freaks everywhere.”

Kyle’s not sure why, but he’s actually surprised by the thick vitriol in Cartman’s voice.

“Well,” he starts, slow and unsure, glancing at where Stan and Wendy were huddled together, “you still have _Wendy_ , right? I mean, she’s at Harvard too?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Cartman trails off, tearing his gaze from Kyle. He looks incredibly uncomfortable – his hands are flexing by his side and he makes an aborted movement towards his jacket.

Kyle’s mind drifts back to what he saw before – he thinks about the orange bottle of pills.

Cartman’s such a complex mess, he can’t even begin to name the number of meds he thinks the guy should be on or the long list of issues the guy has. Kyle bites his lip and wonders if he should ask… Kenny clearly knows what they’re for, but then _Kenny_ had been allowed to fucking visit Cartman over the summer.

Stan too.

Irritation crawls under Kyle’s skin and he turns to regard Cartman – oddly, he feels hurt by the secrecy that has somehow infected his friends. He doesn’t understand what he’s done to put them off from including him in their shit.

He doesn’t understand why they don’t trust him.

It hurts.

Kyle’s not sure if he should ask – if he’s _allowed_ to ask – but fuck, he has to know what meds Cartman is taking. Call it curiosity or concern, but Kyle has to know if Cartman is another person he needs to keep an eye on; especially as he’s drinking and _especially_ , especially as he’s ‘cutting down’ on them, which doesn’t _sound_ like a good thing, if Kenny’s reaction is anything to go by.

Goddammit.

“Hey, Cartman?”

“What.”

“What’s in the—”

“ _Dude_ , back off!”

Kyle blinks, his neck almost snapping at the speed he uses to turn his head around. Stan is standing defensively, glaring hotly at Butters who blinks blankly in return. Everyone is staring at them and Kyle mourns his last dying hope that this weekend really wouldn’t be like last time.

“Christ Butters, this is why no one fucking likes you,” Stan bites out with a pinched expression, before turning on his heel to storm away, marching upstairs with stiff, rigid movements. Wendy sighs as she shoots Butters a look which is half-disappointment, half-apology, before she rushes after her boyfriend, muttering inaudibly under her breath.

No one dares to move a muscle – Cartman goes to open his mouth, but Kyle throws a glare at him, which is filthy enough to stop him from spewing whatever bullshit he’s clearly mulling over.

Clyde awkwardly reaches over and turns down the speakers – [the song is incredibly inappropriate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jaOvzZdaQkI), and Kyle feels a fleeting flicker of relief that the music has finally been quietened down.

Someone coughs and distantly, Kyle can hear Stan’s muted distress.

His protective instincts rear their ugly heads – before he can really think about processing the situation properly, he finds himself rushing over to Butters, a heavy frown on his face. Clyde and Bebe skitter quickly out of his path and he can’t help but be vaguely aware of the déjà vu nature of the situation.

Except this time, he’s marching towards the guy he had fiercely defended last year.

Goddammit.

“Butters, what the hell was that about?” he asks, throwing a hand towards the stairs.

“I didn’t mean to upset him, Kyle!” Butters exclaims, earnest with wide eyes, “I just wanted to see if he wanted to play with us!”

Kyle furrows his brows. “Play what exactly?” he asks, suspicion and apprehension flickering under his skin like dual flames.

“Never Have I Ever,” Nichole pipes up, shooting Kyle an apologetic look, “we tried to tell Butters that it probably wasn’t a good idea, but…”

“I just wanted to play a nice game,” Butters protests, “Stan didn’t need to blow up like that, he coulda just said no!”

“Goddammit, you can be so unbelievably stupid, Butters,” Kyle sighs, feeling disappointed but not surprised by this turn of events.

Butters frowns. “Now, now see here,” he says firmly, hands on his hips, “I just wanted to hang out with you fellas, catch up a little and play a game! What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s a _drinking_ game,” Kyle elaborates slowly, gesturing the various drinks surrounding them, “what the hell kind of reaction did you expect from a guy who is ten months sober?”

“Oh shit, here it comes,” Cartman whispers loudly, his words riddled with glee.

“Shut up Cartman!”

“I, ah, oh geez,” Butters stammers, “he coulda just joined in with soda? Everyone’s been drinking all night, what difference would the, would the game make?”

Logically, Kyle understands where Butters is coming from, but Stan is upset and it’s very hard to think straight when he knows his best friend is upstairs and in distress.

“It’s different,” Kyle begins, his words acidic and sharp, “because Stan can distract himself from people drinking when it’s just a party – Never Have I Ever is practically forcing him to watch people enjoy the one thing he _can’t_. It’s practically rubbing it in his face!”

“O-Oh,” Butters utters, wringing his hands together worriedly, “I didn’t… I just wanted us to have some fun, that’s all. I didn’t mean to upset him – maybe if I just explained—”

“God, I knew coming up here was a mistake,” Kyle mutters to himself, and Butters reacts as if he’s just been slapped. He stumbles away as his gaze wildly scans the room. His face glows pink and his eyes look suspiciously wet – Kyle suddenly feels like kicking himself, his anger quickly melting away, only to be replaced by bitter regret. The feeling only gets worse when Butters bites at his lip hard enough to draw blood – the blond’s eyes widen and before Kyle can even consider apologising, Butters flees from the room.

“Fuck, Butters,” Kyle calls after him uselessly, reaching out with fruitless intention.

“Shit,” Kenny mutters, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his torn jeans. Kyle shoots him a curious look which has the blond averting his eyes and sighing, “don’t worry, I’ve got this.” Kenny doesn’t elaborate – he just follows Butters into the kitchen, hunching his shoulders up protectively as he passes Craig and Tweek who have entered the lounge after seemingly finished tainting every surface in the kitchen.

The silence behind is loud and awkward, which just magnifies the exhausted sigh which emits from Kyle’s mouth.

Christ, it’s barely been an hour and already shit’s gone down.

What a fucking _mess_.

* * *

**12.09AM**

“C-Craig!” Tweek stammers brokenly.

Craig has his face buried in Tweek’s neck; it’s the perfect place to smother his snorts of laughter as his boyfriend clutches at his arms. They’ve been playing this game for a while and it’s one they invented during one of Token’s parties, courtesy of Tweek’s marvelous ingenuity.

Typically, during a party, they find it quite freeing to let loose; Tweek will normally dance with Clyde or Bebe, burning off some excess energy, whilst Craig will hunker down with Nichole to vent about Red Racer or Kenny to—

Um.

Nevermind.

The point remains the same – though they enjoy parties, at some point, shit will get overwhelming. Sometimes Tweek becomes overstimulated or Craig’s skin becomes itchy from too much interaction; either way, it always ends with them eager to seek each other out. Which has always been fine, until they realised that their friends care about them too much to just leave them to their own devices, even with locked fucking doors in the way. After being interrupted for the seventeenth time in a single week, they became desperate to come up with another way to be left alone together.

The solution?

 _Obnoxious PDA_.

Not even _Clyde_ can stomach trying to talk to Craig when his hand drifts towards the zipper on Tweek’s jeans.

Despite the overt codependency which has flourished between their friends, they soon discovered that to be left alone requires inducing some major discomfort on their part. A few fake moans here, a couple of melodramatic sighs there, and eventually, they’ll have the room all to themselves. Sometimes, a whole fucking house. One memorable time, they even managed to clear out their entire fucking school.

That one lead to _actual_ shenanigans taking place, because there ain’t nothing more fucked up than a ruined afterglow and so they had to take advantage of the deserted building. The lodge, however? Is more of a challenge. 

“Fuck, Tweek!” Craig cries out, spying Kyle in the doorway from the corner of his eye. The asshole blanches before hastily bouncing the fuck out. Craig rolls his eyes and pulls away from Tweek. “Don’t you ever find it weird that they honestly believe we’re having sex in here?” he asks, climbing down from Tweek’s lap – it’s incredibly comfortable for him, but he knows that after a while, Tweek will start squirming around in discomfort. Craig’s bony ass isn’t exactly suited for long-term lap perching.

Which is just tragic, ‘cause Tweek’s lap is the best fucking seat ever.

Tweek shrugs in response, “not really,” he admits, “I kinda like having our own space for a moment.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice,” Craig pauses with a smirk, “oh! Tweek~!”

Tweek stifles a giggle with his hand. “You have to pitch your voice more,” he instructs, like the amazing actor he is, god, Tweek’s so fucking smart and it seriously confuses Craig to no end that his _fiancé_ refuses to even consider going to college – still, Craig _saw_ those Julliard pamphlets under their bed, he just needs to pick the right moment to bring them up, “and make it breathier, like this: C-Craig, yes!”

Craig’s tanned skin flushes as Tweek moans in front of him; he bites his lip to smother what could have been a genuine whimper, before giving it another go.

“Tweek,” he gasps, throwing his head back as he moans, “right there baby, right there!”

“Yes, Craig, yes!”

“Fuck, so good!” Craig utters, his lisp becoming more pronounced as he pitches his voice as Tweek had directed. Though his words are still wooden, his body rolls with his act, slowly rocking in a way that kinda looks like he’s being genuinely ravished.

“Jesus, Craig…” Tweek breathes, eyes wide as he drinks the sight in.

Craig pauses to glance down at his boyfriend – Tweek’s eyes flutter slightly, his cheeks flushing as he stares up at Craig with something unreadable and dark in his gaze.

“We really need to find a good hiding spot this year,” Tweek murmurs, “one with _soundproof_ walls.”

Which was a good point – the rooms in this lodge were anything _but_ soundproof. Every time they came up to visit, they would test out a new room, only to fail miserably. Last year was simply a testament to that fact.

“I mean,” Craig starts, glancing around the kitchen pointedly, “we could just do it in here? They think we are anyways—”

“Absolutely not,” Tweek interjects, unimpressed, before waving a hand towards the kitchen, “do you have any idea how many diseases lay hidden on the counter of a kitchen? Just sitting here makes my skin crawl!”

“—fair enough,” Craig sighs, pulling away from Tweek to allow his boyfriend to hop down. He watches with a fond smile as Tweek brushes himself down as if sweeping away the invisible germs trying to invade his body.

He flicks a gaze towards the lounge and wrinkles his nose at the noise of Clyde’s awful fucking music. Craig loves Clyde, he really does, but someone needs to have a word with the guy about his aspirations of becoming a DJ in Ibiza – it definitely needs to be Token who has the conversation.

Yep.

Token can totally be the one to burst Clyde’s bubble.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” Tweek instructs, tapping Craig sharply on his collarbone, “it’s clearly _not_ nice.”

Craig snorts and captures Tweek’s hand with his own, threading their fingers together carefully.

“You know me so well,” he muses, gazing down at Tweek softly. He hums and leans forward until their foreheads brush together – he can smell the caffeine that radiates from Tweek’s hair, mixed amongst the flowery scent of Tricia’s shampoo. It’s his favourite smell and it never fails to soothe his fraying nerves. “I know a place with soundproof walls,” he suddenly announces.

Tweek starts and pulls away, tilting his head with an arched brow.

“You better not be talking about the basement,” he warns with a piercing look, “remember what happened last time? I ended up locked inside and—”

Craig hums and nods, placing a hand on Tweek’s cheek – he learned early on to not place his hand over Tweek’s mouth when his boyfriend needs to rant, it never ends well for his fingers… still, Tweek’s face flickers with irritation, despite leaning into Craig’s touch.

“—and shit went down, I know, no basement,” Craig finishes, “I promise.”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

“Sorry babe.”

There’s a beat of silence as they stare at each other; Clyde’s playlist rages on from the lounge and there’s a distinct argument brewing between Cartman and Kenny. Craig twitches at the sound of Kenny’s voice, but apart from that, neither of them pay the commotion any mind.

The silence stretches on.

“Argh! Goddammit Craig, you know I hate it when you do this!” Tweek complains, twitching irritably, “you always make some vague statement with no follow-up and then just expect me to read your mind! It annoys the shit outta me!”

“And yet, you’re gonna marry me anyways” Craig grins, causing Tweek to sigh reluctantly and nod in agreement, “there’s a cabin. Butters says it’s like, a ten-minute walk away. His creepy uncle finally finished fixing it up with running water, electricity, and major selling point: there’s a distinct lack of annoying assholes.”

“And it’s still ten minutes away,” Tweek points out, before nodding towards the kitchen window. The glass protests and whines as the winter winds howl, pushing insistently against it. There’s a thick flurry of snow swirling around, and they can barely see beyond the cabin’s fencing, “you really want to go outside in _that_?”

Craig shrugs. “Better than being stuck inside here,” he throws a hand towards the lounge, “with _them_.”

Tweek arches a brow, leans against the counter and folds his arms.

“Craig,” he begins patiently, “are you hoping to ignore the situation so you can avoid confronting the issue head-on?”

“Don’t quote your therapist at me,” Craig sniffs, averting his eyes moodily.

“Wouldn’t have to if you just talked to her yourself,” Tweek says, and Craig automatically tenses up, worried that Tweek is gonna start the whole ‘babe, you need to talk to someone’ schtick. Like, there’s nothing inherently wrong with going to a shrink and Craig is _forever_ thankful that Tweek is in a healthier place thanks to Dr Goodall, but he really doesn’t think it’s for him. Mainly because he doesn’t think there’s anything _wrong_ with him – he just… he’s fine.

He just sucks at talking – who needs a therapist for that?

Thankfully, Tweek appears to drop it, as he reaches up to curl a lock of Craig’s hair around his finger. Craig hums and leans into it, happy to soak up any affection from his boyfriend. He’s lulled into a false sense of security though, as Tweek takes advantage of his moment of vulnerability to tug sharply on the strands he’s playing with.

“What the fuck babe,” Craig frowns, pursing his lip.

“Please promise me you’ll talk to him,” Tweek says, complete with beautifully beseeching eyes.

Craig sighs, averts his eyes and deflates.

“Do I have to? He doesn’t… look like he wants to talk to me,” he bites out haltingly, “and I just… I don’t want you to think that I…”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Tweek rolls his eyes. “Well, it will be,” he says confidently, which just fills Craig’s heart with so much love and pride – Tweek really has come so far since moving in with his family five years ago. The Tweaks had fucked off to some coffee convention in Wyoming and conveniently forgot all about their drug-addled son, who had been left behind in order to run their bullshit business in their absence. After three days of no contact, Craig, concerned and suspicious, ended up picking the lock of Tweek’s house, only to walk into what had been a delusional Tweek, caught in the nightmarish throes of withdrawal.

It had taken fucking years for Tweek to recover and though his anxiety and paranoia are ingrained into his DNA and though he still has tics and outbursts, he’s _healthy_.

He’s _happy_.

And Craig could just about _cry_ from how much he loves his boyfriend.

No.

 _Fiancé_.

“Are you sure we can’t just hide away in the cabin?” he asks, soft and insistent, leaning down to bury his face in Tweek’s neck, kissing at the exposed skin there softly, “there’s a fireplace apparently. And a sofa. And a bed,” he punctuates his points with butterfly kisses, trailing up towards his boyfriend’s face to cover it in little pecks of love, “And plenty of soundproof walls durable enough for some extreme—"

“Don’t try and sweet talk me,” Tweek says, leaning away from Craig’s downpour of affection; he stifles a laugh and bats at his boyfriend’s face gently, “you _need_ to talk to him.”

“Babe,” Craig murmurs into the hollow of Tweek’s throat, “please don’t make me talk. You know I hate talking.”

“So why even come here then?” Tweek asks, and Craig can feel him petting softly at his hair - he immediately melts against Tweek with a small sigh.

“Tricia called me a no-good pussy,” he admits lowly, “wanted to prove her wrong.”

He can’t see Tweek’s judgmental gaze, but he sure as fuck can _feel_ it.

“How is this proving her wrong?”

“I’ve suddenly decided I don’t care what Tricia thinks of me.”

Craig feels Tweek tremble slightly, which tells him that his boyfriend is trying really hard to not laugh and, sure enough, it fails as per usual. Tweek’s laughter vibrates against Craig’s body and echoes around the empty kitchen – it sure as shit sounds better than Clyde’s bullshit music.

And the sound of Kyle clearly losing his shit. _Again_.

Christ, dude needs a fucking Xanax.

“Soundproof walls,” he repeats, nuzzling his face against Tweek’s neck. He can feel his boyfriend’s body tremble against his and wonders if he’s finally wearing Tweek down.

“It is… tempting,” Tweek admits, before pushing Craig away firmly, “but you have to promise me you’ll speak to Kenny and Butters at some point this weekend.”

Craig purses his lip.

Tweek arches a brow.

Craig sighs and folds his arms.

“Fine,” he bites out, refusing to budge when Tweek beams at him in delight.

“Love you,” he murmurs.

“Love you more,” Tweek whispers back.

Craig hums as he folds his body around Tweek’s – there’s only a five-centimetre height difference between them, but Craig adores it. He likes being able to envelop his entire body around Tweek; though his boyfriend – no, _fiancé –_ doesn’t need his protection and though it’s normally _Tweek_ who’s the protective one, Craig still enjoys the feeling he gets when he has Tweek in his arms. It’s one of the few things he’s missed whilst being at college.

They drink each other in, sharing more than just body-heat; coming back here has been hard on them both, Craig knows this. It had taken more than just Tricia calling him a pussy to get him to agree to Butters’ invitation; there has also been a little sweet talking and begging on Tweek’s end to get him to reconsider his very firm ‘fuck no’, but now he’s wondering why he even bothered caving in. Yeah, Clyde would’ve cried, and Tricia would’ve declared him a bitch-ass pussy boy, but _fuck_.

At least he would’ve avoided all the impending drama – ‘cause he can sense this shit, it’s fucking brewing.

Craig know that he’ll be damned if he lets _anything_ fuck with Tweek this time around.

And that’s including himself.

He hums and he threads his fingers through Tweek’s messy nest of hair – it feels a lot stronger now, shinier too, and the bald patches have totally disappeared. It had taken fucking _months_ for Tweek’s hair to grow strong and healthy, a sign of how far he’s come – the guys in the lounge can get _fucked_ if they think they can ruin all his progress now.

God, he can’t believe Tweek wants to get married to _him;_ like, he’s just so fucking perfect and he wants to marry Craig? What did he ever do to deserve Tweek in his life, holy shi—

“I can hear you thinking,” Tweek murmurs, “sounds painful.”

“Fuck off,” Craig snorts, tugging gently on a small lock of blond hair.

Tweek laughs and leans away, craning his neck to reply—

“ _Dude_ , back off!”

—but naturally they can’t have anything nice, so the moment gets ruined by the assholes in the other room; Stan’s angry voice hurtles through the air and shatters the sweetly serene atmosphere in the kitchen. Tweek peers over at the lounge, concern shining in his green eye and Craig just knows that he’s about to get pulled into some fucking bullshit they have no business getting pulled into. He sighs and allows himself to be led into the lounge, Tweek keeping a tight grip on his hand.

Tweek’s fingers turn white from how hard he’s holding onto Craig, his fingernails biting deep into Craig’s flesh, but he doesn’t mind.

He can put up with anything that makes Tweek feel grounded.

They enter the lounge to see everyone staring at Butters in horror – Stan is storming up the stairs, Wendy hot on his heels. Craig instantly wants to retreat back into the kitchen with Tweek, but then he catches Clyde’s sad pout and sighs again.

God, he’s too fucking nice.

“Butters, what the hell was that about?” Kyle demands, stalking up to the boy with a stern expression on his face. Goddammit, if the asshole kicks off on _another_ rant, then _fuck_ the kitchen – Craig was dragging Tweek back down the mountain and far away from these dramatic fuckers.

He tunes out the response that Butters gives – the blond’s been giving him the fucking heebie-jeebies all night, so he avoids giving him even the slightest scrap of attention. Craig’s not sure how he’s gonna cope for the rest of the weekend, but he guesses it couldn’t get any worse than last year.

Butters rambles through an explanation before fleeing from the room altogether, rushing past them without a flicker of a glance.

Kenny shortly follows; Craig’s heart beats fiercely in his chest when the blond shies away as he passes by him and Tweek.

“Maybe the cabin isn’t such a bad idea,” Tweek whispers to him; Craig knows he isn’t being serious, but fuck does he want to hide and disappear, far, far away from this shitshow.

He’s about to go searching for the map that Butters had left around for him, but then—

“I’m not touching this shit,” Craig hears Token murmur to Nichole, “do you want to check out Butters’ cabin?”

“Cabin?” Nichole asks, her eyes lighting up with interest, “there’s a _cabin_? All these years coming up here and I’m finding out about this now? Babe, you could have told me sooner, but no, we’ve been wasting time hanging out with these assholes instead!”

Token shrugs and grins at her, “apparently Uncle Budd’s spent months setting everything up – working fireplace, plumbing,” he winks at her, “new bedding too. What do you say?”

Nichole hums excitedly, biting her lip as she grins up at her boyfriend.

Craig’s eyes light up as he sees his opening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KYLE LEARNED THAT LIANE IS DOING WELL  
>  **KYLE DID NOT LEARN ABOUT CARTMAN’S MEDS****
> 
> ******CARTMAN’S MOOD IS STABILISING** ** **
> 
> ********~~WHAT SHOULD KYLE DO?~~   
>  **~~\- GO AFTER STAN~~   
>  **~~\- GO AFTER BUTTERS~~ ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> **************~~WHAT SHOULD CRAIG DO?~~   
>  **~~\- CALL DIBS ON THE CABIN AND HAVE SOME ALONE TIME WITH TWEEK, AWAY FROM POTENTIAL DRAMA~~   
>  **~~\- LET TOKEN CALL DIBS AND STAY, GETTING THE CHANCE FOR SOME CLOSURE~~ ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> ********************YOUR CHOICE HAS BEEN MADE** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **


	4. ACT ONE: Kyle III | Craig II

**KYLE WENT AFTER STAN**

**12.33AM**

Kyle acknowledges the awkward silence hanging in the air with a weary sigh.

He throws a look towards the kitchen and figures that he’d just hinder whatever Kenny is doing to cheer Butters up. Instead, he takes off after Stan and Wendy, intent on making sure his best friend was okay – sure, Wendy was more than capable of looking after Stan, but Kyle knows he won’t be able to rest until he sees that Stan is fine.

He _hears_ Token and Nichole mutter amongst themselves and _feels_ the accusatory stares on the back of his neck and his skin just _crawls_ uncomfortably.

“Nice one Kyle,” Cartman calls out, “not quite your best, but—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kyle interrupts tiredly, turning on his heel to rush upstairs after Stan and Wendy.

It’s not quite running away, but goddammit, he needs to get away from those assholes before he punches one of them. He hurries upstairs, ignoring the conversation which flows easily behind him and focuses on heading towards the sound of Stan’s and Wendy’s voices. He follows the soft sounds to a room tucked far away from the lounge – he hears them and hesitates for a second.

He doesn’t _really_ want to be a third-wheel… he doesn’t _really_ want to ruin their time together…

But his skin won’t stop crawling.

Kyle lifts his hand up and slowly knocks on the door, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He doesn’t get why he’s so nervous – it’s only Stan and Wendy. He’s been alone with Stan and Wendy before… fucking Kenny. This is all _his_ fault, saying that shit about Stan and Wendy liking him, Christ. Kyle has enough problems on his plate without having some sort of crisis about crushing on Stan.

 _Again_.

“Who is it?” Wendy calls out lightly.

“Hey, it’s me,” Kyle responds – he hears a small amount of whispering, before Wendy’s voice responds to him.

“It’s open, come on in Kyle!”

Kyle slips into the room and smiles at the sight that greets him. Stan and Wendy are curled up together on Stan’s bed; they seem to have stripped the other bed of its sheets and have built themselves one hell of a cosy-looking nest. They’re practically swaddled in blankets and Kyle is hit by a sense of yearning so deep, it almost makes him sick.

“Hey dudes” he greets, giving Stan and Wendy a small wave.

“‘Sup,” Stan responds, smiling tiredly.

“Hey Kyle,” Wendy smiles at him.

There’s a small beat of silence where they just stare at each other – oddly, it doesn’t _feel_ uncomfortable, but Kyle still feels the urge to break it before it stretches on for too long. Then it’ll just get awkward and dumb.

“So…” he begins, unsure and slow, “stupid question, but are you okay?”

Stan snorts and shrugs. “I’m… I feel pretty dumb for overreacting, but apart from that, I’m okay,” he says, his gaze flicking away self-consciously.

“Is Butters okay?” Wendy asks, cocking her head.

Kyle blinks, thinks about how he blew up at Butters and shrugs.

“Yeah,” he says uncertainly, “Kenny’s making sure he’s fine.”

Wendy stares in disbelief. “Is that… safe?” she asks, looking slightly worried.

Kyle shrugs again. “I guess… we’ll find out?” he responds.

“Oh,” Wendy says flatly, “great.”

Stan snorts, “Like whatever will happen will beat last year,” he says, his tone frigidly bitter, “not that I could tell you – I can’t even really remember last year’s fucking party.”

Wendy shoots him a sardonic smile. “I would say that I _wished_ I could say the same, but,” she trails off with an awkward shrug, “I don’t. And I’m _proud_ that you’ve progressed from last year, which is why we need to make sure that _this_ weekend isn’t a repeat of last year!”

Stan wrinkles his nose.

“Gross,” he remarks, “you sound like my _mom_.”

Wendy shoves him gently, her smile growing warmer.

Kyle watches and feels a longing tug in his heart.

“Hey, did you tell Butters about…?” he trails off, hugging himself awkwardly – Stan’s room is cold as fuck. He almost wants to ask if he can join Stan and Wendy on the bed, but then he remembers Kenny’s words and recoils shyly – he makes a mental note to kick Kenny in the dick at some point for making him feel this way. Fuck.

Stan nods. “Yeah dude, told him the minute I walked in,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. Wendy hums and pulls him closer into her hold, tilting her head slightly to give him the room to rest his own head on her shoulder, “gave him the fucking kiddie cider and told him to keep it separate from the rest of the shit, Jesus.”

Kyle nods and bite his lip.

“Okay,” he murmurs, before shifting uneasily, “but you know Butters didn’t mean it, right? Like, the dude just wants to hang out with everyone like old times – guess he wants to pretend that last year never happened? Yay for healthy coping mechanisms, right?”

“I know,” Stan moans, allowing his head to fall back onto his shoulders, “I’ll apologise, I will, but goddammit, he knows we can’t just… fucking hang out like ‘old times’, right? Last year really fucked us up.”

“Is it really that bad?” Wendy queries, frowning to herself, “I’m pretty sure you’ve done worse to him over the years.”

“Wow, thanks, Wendy.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

Kyle smiles to himself as they start pushing at each other playfully.

Then Wendy’s words sink in and he feels sick again.

“I don’t know man,” he says slowly, honestly, “like, on paper? A shuriken to the eye sounds way worse, right? But… last year? I just… I’ve never seen Butters cry like that. Shit was intense – I honestly thought his Uncle Budd was gonna _shoot_ us.”

“I thought _you_ were gonna shoot us,” Stan says, biting back a smile.

Kyle’s heart skips a beat at the sight, and he kicks himself for staring at that little flash of teeth.

“Shut up,” he shoots back, rolling his eyes, “listen, this weekend is gonna blow for everyone, we all know this, so it’s probably best that we just go downstairs, apologise to Butters and pray that Sunday night comes quickly.”

Stan nods until he freezes, and glances back up at Kyle, arching a brow curiously.

“What do you mean by ‘we’?” he asks, his tone knowing and pointed, “did you have another episode?”

Kyle purses his lower lip. “Don’t go there dude,” he warns his best friend with a thin glare.

Stan snorts and hums lightly before his gaze falls to his lap.

“Man, I’ll apologise, I just. I just don’t want to be treated like a fucking kid,” he mutters sullenly, glancing up Kyle with big, sad eyes, “I can handle Cartman taking shots at me, but fuck people acting like I’m made of glass. Like, ‘here Jimmy, have your fifth of vodka and don’t forget your soda-pop Stan’ – it really pisses me off!”

“I get that, I do,” Kyle says, trying hard to avoid a patronising tone, “but maybe don’t blow up at Butters for inviting you to a drinking game and then maybe, _maybe_ , you won’t get treated like a kid?”

Stan groans and tucks his head into the crook of Wendy’s neck.

“Fuck,” he mutters quietly, “I hate it when you’re right.”

“No, you don’t,” Kyle responds dryly.

Stan shrugs, a soft smile on his face – his eyes have fallen shut and Wendy is busy stroking his hair out of his face. Kyle definitely feels like he’s intruding now, but he lingers… the moment is sweet, but not sickening like Craig and Tweek. It’s just… nice. And oddly, Kyle doesn’t _really_ feel like a third-wheel.

Wendy glances up at him and smiles softly.

His heart skips another beat.

“God, my head’s fucking killing me,” Stan murmurs in the fragile silence, craning his neck to look up at Wendy with a hopeful smile, “you got any painkillers?”

Wendy frowns down at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry, I gave my last one to Bebe,” she says, her tone tinged with regret.

Kyle cocks his head, “I’ve got some painkillers in my bag – give me two minutes dude, I’ll be right back,” he says, like it’s a promise.

“Thanks dude,” Stan says, smiling gratefully at him.

“No problem,” Kyle replies, feeling his face prickle with heat.

Goddammit, is he _blushing_ now?

What the _fuck_?

Kyle leaves the room quickly before either of them can notice, and immediately curses himself – he can’t remember which room is his, _fuck._ He knows that it’s one door down from Stan and Wendy’s shared room, but he can’t remember whether it was the one on the left or the right. He bites his lip and hears Ike’s voice in his head.

 _What would Beyoncé do?_ Imaginary Ike asks.

 _Well,_ Kyle thinks, _can’t_ _argue with that logic_.

“To the left, to the left,” he sings softly under his breath before he pads towards the first door on the left. He tests the handle and feels relief sweep through him as it turns easily.

He slips into the room and instantly knows he’s made a mistake.

It’s a lot bigger than any of the shared bedrooms, that’s for sure.

It’s also dark and smells strongly of smoke.

Kyle gulps inaudibly and glances around.

The décor is tacky, with a king-sized bed that takes up most of the room. It’s four-poster, made from wood and has dark-red curtains lining it. There’s a thick fur blanket draped across it, steel-grey in colour, which matches the pillows thrown across it. It doesn’t look soft or comfortable; if anything, it gives Kyle this sense of foreboding and has his skin crawling at the thought of going near it, never mind _touching_ it.

His gaze drifts across the room, and he hugs himself out of an innate longing for comfort.

The walls were decorated with the heads of deer and bears – their faces were frozen in a contorted display of pain and misery. It makes Kyle’s heart hurt and he hopes Stan never accidentally wanders into this room – his friend is still weak against animals and is also attempting his third venture into veganism, but it’s yet to become a permanent thing.

Still.

Vegan or not, anyone would feel a degree of nausea looking at this bullshit.

Kyle shudders as he scans the walls – more animal heads, more guns and… oh god. One photo of Butters, directly opposite the bed, above the fireplace. It’s nothing more than a school photo, taken from sixth grade from the looks of it, and whilst it _looks_ innocent, the placement is still unnerving.

He curses under his breath as realisation hits him out of nowhere.

Well _shit_ – it’s Uncle Budd’s room.

* * *

**CRAIG LET TOKEN CALL DIBS**

**12.33AM**

Craig sees his opportunity, but he also sees the excitable glint in Nichole’s eye.

He bites his lip and glances down at Tweek – maybe his boyfriend has a point. Maybe he needs to just… fucking talk it out with Kenny, get it over with and shit. He _is_ getting married to Tweek after all, so why the fuck is this shit still fucking with his head?

Goddammit.

Cartman heckles Kyle.

Kyle runs after Stan and Wendy.

Craig sighs, bites his lip and decides, _fuck it_.

“Yo, we’re heading out to Butters’ cabin of love,” Token declares to the room, tucking Nichole under his arm with a broad grin, “so don’t wait up for us.” Nichole rolls her eyes and bats at his chest with a soft smile – Clyde wolf-whistles at them, but it dies quickly when Bebe kicks him in the ankle.

“There’s a cabin nearby?” she asks curiously, ignoring Clyde’s wounded pout.

“Yeah, I overheard Butters telling Craig about it being fixed and shit this year – sorry bro, should’ve called dibs first,” Token says, broadly grinning at Craig.

He feels Tweek glance up at him curiously.

He shrugs and looks away.

“Proud of you,” Tweek murmurs lowly, before pressing a firm kiss to the hollow of Craig’s throat – he shudders as his skin blossoms with heat and his grip on Tweek tightens. For some reason, Tweek’s words has his heart beating fiercely in his chest – he guesses it’s pride because receiving praise always leaves him glowing and feeling somewhat floaty inside.

“Cabin of love?” Cartman asks, wrinkling his nose in disbelief, “sounds über gay.” His eyes light up and he turns to Craig eagerly – Craig’s floaty feelings are instantly shot down, as exasperation floods his guts instead. “Hey Craig, hey, hey Craig, Craig—”

“Let me guess,” Craig interjects dryly, “is it my cabin? Did I build the cabin? Have I already fucked Tweek in the cabin? Tell me, dude, what else did I do to the cabin to make it gay?”

Cartman purses his lips. “Dude, don’t steal my jokes,” he says sullenly, “so not cool.”

Craig flips him off in response and deliberately turns away to face Token and Nichole. They’re bundling up tightly in coats and scarves; Token has Nichole’s bag on his shoulder, whilst Nichole packs away several cans of beer. Tweek twitches by his side, his boyfriend’s gaze shifting from the window to their friends – the wind has died down, but the snow is still falling and it’s still dark as fuck outside.

Craig kinda gets why Tweek was so apprehensive now.

Christ, fuck going out in _that_.

“Are you sure you’re okay going outside in that,” he absently hears Tweek ask Nichole. He looks to see his boyfriend pointing out of the window, concern clear across his face. Nichole smiles sweetly and walks up to Tweek, nodding firmly.

“Don’t worry,” she says, before pointing to various items on her belt, “I have a torch, a taser, an ice-pick, some mosquito repellent, some matches, hairspray, and a can of mace.” Tweek blinks at her and Craig almost sniggers at the look of awe that gleams brightly in his boyfriend’s pretty green eyes. Token looks incredibly proud and oddly disturbed by his girlfriend’s thoroughness.

“How… do you even fit all that onto one belt?” Tweek asks, his voice a perfect mix of wonderment and incredulity. Craig’s eyes lazily drift across Nichole’s waist – the belt is pretty heavy-duty, and it gives him strong Tomb Raider vibes. Fuck, she’s definitely better prepared for their weekend in the mountain compared to the rest of them.

Craig knows that everyone else probably only brought up booze, weed and a change of clothes, and even that last one was just him being optimistic.

“I used to go camping with my dad when I was younger,” Nichole explains easily, with a half-shrug, “so I’m used to roughing it.”

“My girl’s tough,” Token says smugly, beaming at her brightly.

“Wow,” Tweek breathes, and now he almost sounds envious. Craig snorts and makes a mental note to check out some camping equipment before he heads back to South Park for Christmas. Tweek is surprisingly fucking _difficult_ to buy gifts for, so any inspiration is greatly welcomed.

He watches as Bebe squeals and hugs Nichole tightly; she instructs her to be safe and to look out for Token. Clyde does the same, hugging Token tightly and begging him to not get eaten by a bear on the way – Craig snorts, knowing that Clyde has some real beef when it comes to bears, but he isn’t really sure why.

They’ve never come across a bear in all the times they’ve visited Uncle Budd’s lodge, but whatever.

He stopped questioning Clyde’s thought processes a long-ass time ago.

Craig shoots Token and Nichole a short wave, smiling softly when Tweek requests that they be careful, and to look out for each other, don’t touch the wildlife, they might have rabies, don’t eat anything strange or unusual, and for the love of god, don’t die. Craig hums and tilts his head to rest it atop Tweek’s. His boyfriend, despite being the bravest person he knows, is also _so_ cautious of the world; it’s kinda endearing, but inwardly, he wishes Tweek didn’t have so many concerns about _everything_ in life.

“Don’t kill each other,” Token says as a farewell, “unless it’s Cartman, in which case, have fun with that!”

“Record it, send it to us!” Nichole adds cheerily.

“Aye! Screw you guys!” Cartman spits out at them.

There’s a chorus of laughter which rings loudly throughout the room. Token and Nichole exit the lodge, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing loudly. The sound brings the laughter and cheer to a quick end, until it’s silent in the room again. In the kitchen, Butters and Kenny are still murmuring to each other in heated whispers and Craig can hear Kyle walking around upstairs, but apart from that… it’s just… _quiet_.

Until there’s a soft sniff, and the sound has Craig’s head snapping around sharply. Clyde’s eyes are suspiciously wet – it has his hackles automatically rising in response. He’s seen Clyde cry a lot over the years, but he still fucking hates it; the first time he had seen Clyde, it was ‘cause some asshole kid had made him cry, which then led to Craig beating the shit outta the little dickweed who had made him cry. It kinda formed the foundations for the rest of their friendship, honestly.

“The fuck are you crying for now?” Craig asks, craning slightly to catch Clyde’s gaze.

“This… is my fault, right?” Clyde asks hesitantly, waving his arm vaguely in the direction of the kitchen before nodding up to the first floor, “this awkward tension?”

“Dude, what?” Craig asks, wrinkling his nose, but Clyde seems to have fallen down a vortex; he had done the same thing last year, but _Christ_ , Craig thought he had sorted all this shit out back then. If he had known Clyde had been worrying about this shit all along, then…

Uh.

He probably would have sent Tweek over to chat shit out – actually, scratch that, holy shit.

“I mean, I just wanted them to talk it out, I didn’t want _you_ to get involved. I didn’t want all this shit to go down!” Clyde says, falling head-first into a spiralling tangent. Bebe purses her lip and reaches out to pet at his face softly, crooning at him with gentle, soothing words.

“Man, we’ve talked about this, I don’t blame you for last year’s shit,” Craig says firmly, leaving no room for negotiation or disagreement.

“He’s right honey, it’s not your fault,” Bebe murmurs, reaching up to play with Clyde’s hair comfortingly.

“Yeah, if anything, it’s Cartman’s fault for taking your idea and turning it into a sick joke!” Heidi scoffs, throwing Cartman a dark glare.

“Oh, fuck you!” Cartman spits back.

“Fuck _me_? Fuck _you_!”

“Seriously, come at me bitch, let’s go, let’s do this!” Cartman holds his arms open, jutting his chin up threateningly – Heidi merely laughs in response, her eyes cold and full of hate. Craig shivers at the sight of them; she used to be incredibly sweet and soft-spoken, but now she’s probably the only girl who could inflict fear into his very soul.

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends,” Heidi replies smugly, “ _again_.”

“Okay, you know what? Screw this shit. Hey Jimmy, wanna try out the hot tub?” Cartman turns to Jimmy, crossing his arms with a heavy pout on his lips. Jimmy, who seemingly takes it upon himself to take one for the team, turns to Cartman, his eyes lighting up eagerly.

“Oh, I forgot there was one,” Jimmy says, interest thick in his voice, “why’re we still stood here with our dicks in our hands when we could be getting down and duh-dirty in the bubbles?”

“Oh-kay,” Cartman states, looking mildly disgusted, before facing the room as a whole, “listen dickwads, this party’s getting totally lame, me and Jimmy are gonna hang out in Butters’ sweet-ass hot tub.” He turns to leave, heading towards the hallway which led to Uncle Budd’s backyard. Jimmy follows after him quickly, a broad grin playing on his lips.

“Later peasants!” Jimmy calls out, and Craig rolls his eyes as his friend shoots them a peace-sign.

“Oh,” Cartman pauses, lingering in the doorway, “it’s invitation-only, by the way, so don’t even _think_ about joining us.”

Craig wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, ‘cause we’re all _dying_ to see you half-naked, Cartman,” he drawls, earning himself an eloquent middle-finger in return. Tweek shudders by his side and he hears Bebe gag slightly – he feels a drop of guilt for inflicting that mental image on his friends, but come on, it’s fucking _true._

“Bite me gaywad,” Cartman sings back, his voice growing distant as he leaves the room. All Craig can hear is Jimmy’s crutches and the pair bickering amongst themselves. He hopes Cartman falls asleep in the tub and fucking drowns – fucking asshole, who the _fuck_ allowed him to come back anyway.

Oh, right.

Goddamn Butters.

Speaking of… Craig’s gaze flickers towards the kitchen. He can’t really hear anything clearly, but from the sounds of their whispering, their conversation sounds pretty intense. He swallows hard as an uncomfortable wave of nausea hits him hard – they’re probably talking about him, right?

That’s definitely a thing they’re doing: talking about him.

Ever since he came out, he’s _hated_ the idea of people talking about him behind his back. It makes him feel uneasy, like the fragile level of trust he has in people is just seconds away from snapping completely. Craig wonders if this is how Tweek feels all the time and tightens his arm around his boyfriend.

It fucking sucks; he really, _really_ wishes he had called dibs on that dumb cabin when he had the opportunity.

“You okay?” Tweek asks softly, nudging him to get his attention.

“I’m fine,” he replies, which is practically an automatic response at this point.

‘Cause duh, of course, he’s fine – he has to be fine. Tweek _needs_ him to be fine, Christ.

If he wants this weekend to go by smoothly, then he couldn’t allow himself to be anything but okay.

“Are you sure?” Tweek presses, his concerned gaze burning a hole into Craig’s head.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Craig swallows hard to dislodge the lump in his throat; Tweek’s tone is light but flat, like he _knows_ that Craig is lying, but is just too goddamn conscientious to call him out on his obvious bullshit.

Fuck, he really doesn’t deserve Tweek.

“Oh, fuck _me_ ,” Bebe moans to herself, breaking Craig free from his spiralling reverie – he glances up to see her looking frantically around the sofa, her pretty face screwed up in frustration, “fuck, no, come _on_!”

“You okay?” Clyde asks, tilting his head as he approaches her slowly. She looks irritated, but inwardly so, with her lips spilling a quick array of curses. Craig arches a brow as he bites back a smile – he’s always been impressed with her creativity. “Yo, Bebe?”

“No,” she says mournfully, “I’ve left my bag at the thingy – the, y’know. Fuck, the cable cart!”

Clyde blinks. “You brought like, five bags,” he says, with wide, bewildered eyes, “what’s so special about this one?”

“It has my _stuff_ in it.”

“And the others don’t?”

“My _lady_ stuff.”

“Oh,” Clyde utters, before realisation flickers across his face, “ooooh. Right. Can’t you borrow some from the other girls?”

Bebe sighs and shakes her head, her blonde ringlets bouncing gently with the motion. Craig watches quietly – he doesn’t like girls, but he knows that if he did, Bebe would definitely be the girl he’d go for.

“Heidi and Wendy are on the implant, so they don’t need lady stuff,” Bebe sniffs, envy colouring her tone, “and Nichole uses _tampons_ – I _hate_ tampons.”

“Ew, gross,” Clyde shudders, causing Craig and Tweek to snicker amongst themselves as Bebe smacks him soundly on the arm. He catches Heidi giggling to herself, rolling her eyes at Clyde’s immaturity.

“It’s not a dirty word, asshole,” Bebe lectures, frowning at him shortly before she deflates and folds her arms across her body, “shit. I’ll have to go back in the freezing fucking dark – goddammit.”

“You need any help?”

“Want me to come with?”

Bebe blinks as Heidi and Clyde offer up their help at the same time. Craig blinks and feels the tension rise as Heidi and Clyde stare each other down; Clyde doesn’t like Bebe, not like _that_ anymore, but Heidi doesn’t know that. Bebe simply glances between them, her mouth gaping slightly as a pink hue floods her cheeks.

Craig shudders at the potential for more drama and turns to Tweek pleadingly.

Luckily for him, he has the best boyfriend ever, who nods encouragingly and leans up to whisper in his ear. It’s so cute to see Tweek on his tip-toes, but Craig knows it irritates him slightly, so he tilts his head down to help his boyfriend out.

“Everyone seems to be busy down here,” Tweek says, soft and light against Craig’s ear, “want to get busy up _there_?” He gestures towards the stairs with a small smirk.

Craig grins. “You have the _best_ ideas, babe,” he says warmly, threading his fingers tightly with Tweek’s. They might as well take advantage of the time they have – they probably won’t get the chance again, which wouldn’t have happened if _they_ were the ones fucking off to the cabin, but it’s whatever, really. They quickly abscond upstairs, giggling and blushing as they practically run to their room.

If anyone hears anything then fuck it, they deserve to be scarred for stirring up some major bullshit.

 _Again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KYLE’S RELATIONSHIP WITH STAN AND WENDY GREW STRONGER  
>  **KYLE LOST THE CHANCE TO LEARN MORE ABOUT BUTTERS’ AND KENNY’S RELATIONSHIP****
> 
> ******CRAIG ALLOWED TOKEN AND NICHOLE TO CALL DIBS ON THE CABIN  
>  **TOKEN AND NICHOLE ARE NOW SEPARATE FROM THE GROUP**** ** **
> 
> **********~~WHAT SHOULD KYLE DO?~~   
>  **~~\- SNOOP, HE CAN FIND OUT MORE ABOUT BUTTERS' FAMILY~~   
>  **~~\- DON’T SNOOP, IT'S AN INVASION OF PRIVACY~~ ** ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> ****************~~WHO SHOULD BEBE TAKE WITH HER?~~   
>  **~~\- TAKE CLYDE, HE’S PRETTY STRONG AND QUICK~~   
>  **~~\- TAKE HEIDI, SHE’S PRETTY CLEVER AND RESOURCEFUL~~ ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> **********************YOUR CHOICE HAS BEEN MADE** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **


	5. ACT ONE: Nichole I | Clyde I | Craig III

**CRAIG LET TOKEN CALL DIBS**

**12.40AM**

Nichole shudders as she steps outside and closes the door behind her.

The bitter air of winter greets her, causing her to tug her scarf tighter around her neck. Token’s teeth chatter loudly beside her and she grins at him in amusement. He shushes at her before he makes his way down the wooden steps on the cabin. Normally, they’d turn left to head towards the cable cart, but Butters’ directions indicate that they’re to turn right and head further into the woods.

She’s never headed in that direction before; she’s normally been content to hang around the lodge and chill with her friends, but… well. She feels sorta overwhelmed with all the stuff going on with her friends.

It’s kinda weird though… she never even knew a cabin _existed_ near the lodge and distantly wonders why Butters has never mentioned it until now, unless.

Well. If he had mentioned it to _Craig_ , then he was probably trying to get rid of him…

Nichole stifles a smile; damn, she never realised just how savage Butters could be.

Thinking about it, she’s not really sure why she’s even surprised – she’s seen him take down _Cartman_ in a fight, which isn’t exactly a great feat, but still.

The boy could be a menace when he applied himself.

“Man, I’m glad we’re outta there,” Token says, jumping when he hears something loud snap in the distance. Nichole rolls her eyes and places a soothing a hand on his arm, “holy shit, what was _that_?”

“It’s probably just a deer,” she says softly, before tugging him along the path, “and yeah, you’re right. It was getting a little intense in there – it will be nice to have some time to ourselves, but we should probably go back tomorrow.”

Token wrinkles his nose. “Tomorrow?” he asks, following at Nichole as he stares suspiciously at the woods around them. She can almost hear his inner-Clyde warning him about bears and mountain lions – she stifles her laughter when he quickens his pace to stay closer to her. “You really that eager to go back to that car crash?”

Nichole shoots him a wry look. “That car crash will have some major casualties if we’re not careful,” she says, “I’d rather stick around to try and help if I can.”

“You’re too nice,” Token says, grinning warmly at her. Nichole feels herself growing warm at the loving expression he has on his face and almost feels herself swoon. She bites her lip and refocuses her attention on the path in front of her, “sometimes you just gotta let people burn.”

“Token!” Nichole says reproachfully, “we are _not_ letting our friends burn!”

Token grins at her. “I’m really only talking about Cartman,” he says,

“I know, but still,” Nichole nibbles at her lip, “I’m worried about them – I’m not sure if they’re totally over last year.”

“They’re not,” Token says, and he sounds pretty confident, “Craig’s kinda messed up about being back, not that he’ll tell anyone. Clyde’s constantly on the verge of freaking out… I don’t know about the rest, but yeah.”

Nichole hums absently.

“Are you over it?” she asks lightly, trying hard to keep the judgment from her voice. She feels Token glance at her, but she can’t quite meet his eye. She doesn’t want to accuse him of being one of the reasons for last year’s mess, but… he kinda was.

Token sighs and she hears him swallow hard.

“Not really,” he admits, “it’s not like I wanted things to go the way they did.”

Nichole nods, before she pauses to step nimbly over a fallen log – she holds out a hand to help Token gain his balance as he clambers over it too.

“Still,” she persists, a faint frown playing on her face, “you _kinda_ went along with it.”

Token groans, his head falling back with exasperation. “I didn’t know what Cartman wanted me to record, okay?” he says emphatically, “if I did, I wouldn’t have gone along with that fat fuck’s plan.”

Nichole considers his words and stares at him, before nodding decisively.

She continues on with their trek, shoving her hands deep into her pockets.

“So, what did you do with the video?” she continues conversationally. She hasn’t watched it since last year, but she has seen it floating around on social media for a while. The girls had taken it upon themselves to report every copy they came across – it’s not much, but Nichole hopes it helps.

Butters really doesn’t deserve _that_ memory being immortalised online.

“I deleted it, but you know it was live-streamed. That shit can’t be erased forever. Some assholes still have it on their phones back in South Park, I’m sure,” Token says, distaste clear in his voice.

“Goddammit,” Nichole mutters, “I hope Butters is okay; do you think he’s okay?”

“I honestly don’t know. He seems happy to just repress all the shit; why do you think he invited us back?”

“That’s not healthy though; like, did you look in his eyes? He seems, I don’t know. Empty?”

“Yeah, I did notice… don’t really blame the dude, but,” Token pauses, his brows knitted together thoughtfully, “I tried apologising to him, but he kinda… blew me off? Like, he didn’t want me to even mention that last year even happened. It’s weird.”

“ _Everyone’s_ acting weird – well, weirder than usual, anyway,” Nichole comments, ‘cause it’s true. Her friends are all acting like they’re walking on eggshells – like, they don’t know how to act, in case they upset Butters again. No one might’ve noticed it, but even _Cartman_ wasn’t as abrasive as usual.

It makes her feel… unsettled.

“You’re telling me. Man, can you believe how different people are in Princeton compared to South Park?” Token asks, shaking his head to himself.

“To be honest, I’m just surprised that people from New Jersey aren’t all orange-coloured and violent,” Nichole says, shuddering as she remembers Kyle’s descriptive and oddly hysteric warning before she and Token had taken off for Princeton.

Token snorts as he nods, “Kyle made it sound like a damn nightmare,” he says before he takes her hand and links their fingers together. He squeezes her hand and grins, “still, I’m glad we get to go to college together – it’s a lot better with you around.”

Nichole coos and leans against him, stretching up to press a kiss to his cheek – she’s glad that he ducks down to meet her halfway. Her boyfriend is wonderfully tall, but even in heels, it’s still a struggle to kiss him on the lips… he makes up for it with his arms though; he can pick her up easily and does so often, which at first, had been irritating, but it soon became an endearingly sweet trait.

“I’m glad we’re still together too,” she says, rubbing his knuckles sweetly, “sociology is really kicking my ass… I don’t think it’s the course for me.” Her brows knit together, and she feels Token press a kiss between them comfortingly.

“You have an idea about what you wanna do instead?” he asks, swinging their arms lightly as he gazes upwards. Nichole eyes him appreciates the way the moonlight highlights his sharp cheekbones and sparkling nose stud – god, Token is effortlessly handsome, and it never fails to make her stomach twist with delight.

“I met this girl at the Feminist Social and she does journalism – it sounds pretty cool and more like… _me_ , I guess? I mean, I could finally turn my gaming blog into something more substantial,” she says, tearing her eyes away from her boyfriend as they come across a fallen tree. She purses her lip as she stares at it – it looks like it had fallen some time ago and wonders if Butters knows that the path is blocked.

“It does sound cool,” Token says, nodding, “if you wanna switch courses, I think you still can?”

“Yeah, I have like, ‘til the second week of January to make my decision,” Nichole says, before she glances back up at him, “but that’s for Future Nichole to worry about, Present Nichole is trying to figure out how to get over this thing.” She gestures towards the tree and Token hums, gazing at it with a confident nod.

“We can totally get over this thing,” he says, before his expression fades to a frown, “probably should let Butters know about it though.”

“We will. Tomorrow,” Nichole says firmly before she pulls away from Token and rolls her shoulders back. She shakes out her ankles and wrists, stretches out her legs and arms. She jumps up and down a couple of times to get the blood pumping before she feels Token watching her. She cocks her head at him and smiles.

“Want me to give you a lift—” he begins to say, but Nichole simply shoots him a wink and takes off, running at the tree quickly. She jumps at the tree, gripping at a low branch, before using her strong legs to vault herself to the top, pulling herself up with a bitten-off curse. She gasps as she wobbles slightly, before she manages to right herself. She stands and turns to see Token staring at her, wide-eyed with a flush on his face – Nichole giggles and curtsies in response.

“Not bad for a girl who hasn’t done that in a few weeks, huh?” she asks, grinning when he gapes in response.

“Not bad?” he asks faintly, “that was… you’re just… _fuck_.”

Nichole hums with amusement. “We can do _that_ when we get to the cabin,” she says slyly, before ducking down to hold out her hands, “now come on handsome, we don’t have all night.” She takes a firm grip of Token’s hands and helps him as he climbs the fallen tree. She grits her teeth as she hoists him up and sighs in relief when he reaches the top.

“Goddamn,” he pants, getting to his knees as he peers down, “this cabin better be worth it.”

“It will be,” Nichole promises warmly, “‘cause _I’ll_ be there.”

Token huffs out a laugh and swings his legs over the other side of the tree. He braces himself, before he jumps down, nailing the landing perfectly. He turns and holds up his hands, helping Nichole down from the tree easily. Before he puts her down, he pulls her tight against him and showers her face with kisses.

She giggles and bats at him playfully.

“Behave,” she says, before kissing him on the lips to halt his affectionate attack, “now put me down!”

“I’m kinda enjoying this though,” Token says, swinging her in the air. Nichole arches a brow and stares at him, unimpressed, before flicking him on the nose.

“Unless you wanna try sucking your own dick,” she says flatly, “I suggest you put me down.”

“Message received, loud and clear,” he says, dutifully placing her back onto the ground.

“Thank you,” she says, before heading off down the path. She hears Token following her as she makes her way towards the river – it marks the halfway point towards the cabin and she’s grateful that they’re getting close. The wind has picked up again and she feels the bitter sharp chill catch on her ears painfully.

Still, the walk is pretty – the woods are calm, and the sky is clear. It’s definitely a romantic setting and as soon as they hit the bridge, they’re definitely taking a picture for her Instagram. She feels Token catch up to her and hums in appreciation when he swings an arm around her shoulders. She leans into him and her eyes light up when she finally sees the river ahead.

Then she sees how far away the bridge is and deflates inside.

“Why’s this dumb cabin so far away?” she asks aloud, leaning into Token’s warm body with a frown.

“I don’t know, but man, I kinda wish we had stayed behind now. The atmosphere sucked, but at least Wendy had the fire going,” Token complains, staring at the bridge in the distance, “it’s way too fucking cold out here.”

Nichole cocks her head, her eyes drifting from the bridge to the river in front of them. The water would be frigid and icy, but there were a series of rocks, big enough to stand on, just lying across the water, leading to the other side. Convenient, sure… but was it safe?

She glances up at Token as he hugs her to his body tightly, shivering violently as a gust of wind swirls around them.

She stares back at the river and hums thoughtfully, before making her choice…

* * *

**BEBE CHOSE TO TAKE HEIDI**

**12.46AM**

Craig and Tweek disappear, leaving Clyde alone with Bebe and Heidi.

He barely acknowledges the abandonment though – he’s too busy staring at Heidi in confusion. He’s always liked the girls, probably more than he should, to be honest, but he’s always figured that they kinda liked him too? Like, his friendship with Bebe has kinda allowed him to be ‘one of them’, as it were, and he’s always been invited to their sleepovers and shit…

But Heidi looks so cold and hostile right now and he doesn’t get it.

Like, he can’t really remember doing anything to upset her… unless she blames him for last year’s mess too. Clyde frowns to himself, hugs his arms tight around his body, and tries to stifle the tears that sting in his eyes. There’s a lump in his throat and he can’t quite swallow around it, but it _hurts_. He knows he fucked up, but god, it sucks to have someone blame him so openly.

Bebe flicks her gaze between him and Heidi before she comes to a decision.

She hums as she waltzes up to him and cups his face sweetly. Her fingers are warm around his cheeks and she feels so soft to the touch. His heart swells as he stares up at her pretty face and remembers why he used to be in love with her – people think she’s just a vapid bitch, but truthfully, Bebe is incredibly sweet and has endless amounts of patience for him.

It’s kinda sweet.

“Sorry honey,” Bebe murmurs, stroking his cheekbones with an apologetic smile, “but this trip is girls only – you understand, right?” Her eyes are clear, but she’s staring at him, pointed and hard… like she’s trying to _say_ something to him, but without words.

Clyde narrows his eyes at her and – _oh_. He understands alright.

Bebe _totally_ wants in Heidi’s pants, okay, he gets it.

Heidi is pretty cute, even when she’s glaring sourly at him, so it’s whatever.

“You sure?” he asks regardless, arching a brow.

“Duh,” Bebe responds with a roll of her eyes, “when am I not sure about _anything_ I do?”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he admits, leaning into her touch; he squeezes her shoulder softly and shoots her a knowing grin, “have fun, okay?”

He giggles when Bebe rolls her eyes and smacks him gently on the arm.

“Don’t even go there,” she says, before turning on her heel to gather up her belongings. Clyde watches as Heidi hands over Bebe’s jacket back to her; in return, Bebe gives Heidi her green coat, lined with brown fur. They bundle up tightly, wrapping scarves around their necks and tucking their hands into warm gloves. Clyde spies Bebe’s earmuffs and snatches them up, padding over to Bebe to fit them snugly over her riot of blonde curls. She grins at him in thanks – she has a small smudge of lipstick on her teeth and Clyde snorts at the sight of it.

“Teeth,” he says, nodding at them.

“Oh,” Bebe blinks, rubbing at the stain hastily, “good shout!”

“Gotta make sure you look your best,” he grins, waggling his brows as he peers at Heidi over Bebe’s shoulder, “don’t be letting the team down, now.”

“Dork,” she mutters, checking herself over before she deems herself acceptable. She holds out her arms and arches a brow, “well?”

Clyde hums in consideration, tapping his chin as he regards her thoughtfully. “I mean, I guess it’s too late at this point for drastic improvements, but I’ve seen you look worse,” he says, before he juts his chin at Heidi, “so, you gonna let me watch?”

Bebe levels him with an unimpressed glare and smacks him again in the arm.

“Behave Donovan, or I’ll fall out with you,” she instructs, before turning to take Heidi’s arm in hers, “come on Heidi, let’s escape this boring sausage fest.”

Heidi flushes and smiles at her softly. “I thought you’d never ask,” she says, allowing Bebe to lead her to the front door of the lodge.

“Be good Clyde,” Bebe calls out, waggling her fingers at him. Heidi gives him a brief glance, before awkwardly holding up her hand as some vague farewell too.

“Be safe Bebe,” he calls back, “you too Heidi!” He waves sadly as his best girl, his sister from another mister, leaves him alone in the lodge. He loves his friends, but Bebe is just _special_ to him. Like, okay, his guys _all_ have a special place in his heart, but Bebe was the first one to comfort him after his mom died and he can’t just forget that kind of shit. He remembered how she had turned up at his house after the funeral, completely unprompted, and just held him as he cried all night. Sure, his guys had hugged him and had offered their condolences too, but none of them would have spooned him and stroked his hair, humming nonsense songs until the early hours of dawn.

Bebe had.

Bebe had done all of that, even without being asked first.

She’s fucking special and he hopes Heidi understands that; he’s gonna really miss her when she heads off to F.I.T. next year – he’d been practically blessed when she had decided to defer a year, ‘cause damn.

South Park sucks without his friends around and it’ll suck even more without her.

His mood deflates as he glances around the empty lounge; he purses his lips and wanders over to the speakers, unplugging his phone. The screen lights up – he closes Spotify and grins as his screensaver appears before him. It had been taken during Christmas last year and it never fails to make him smile; he’s in between Craig and Bebe as they each press a kiss to his cheeks, Token’s stood behind them, holding up a sprig of mistletoe. He hums happily and tucks the phone away; he sighs sadly when he realises just how alone he is and decides to gate-crash Cartman and Jimmy’s weird-ass lovefest in the hot tub. It’s not something he wants to do but it’s literally the only viable option out of disturbing any of his other friends inside the lodge.

Before he heads out though, Clyde finds himself eyeing up the kitchen.

If he’s gonna go hang out with _Cartman_ , he’s gonna need some serious fuel.

Clyde steels himself before he makes his way towards the kitchen; he’s 62% sure that Kenny and Butters are finished with whatever shit they’re talking about and so he doesn’t _think_ they’ll mind that much if he just swoops in, snatches up some cider and then swoops the fuck out. Still, it’ll be the first time he’s really been alone with them since he fucked up last year.

He really hopes they’re not _too_ pissed at him – it was… it was just an idea. He didn’t want things to go the way they did, he had just wanted them to _talk¸_ for fuck’s sake. He had _no_ idea it would get so bad, goddammit.

Clyde sighs and wanders into the kitchen; he bites his lip at the scene that greets him.

Kenny leans against the sink, hugging himself tightly as he stares down at the floor with empty eyes. Clyde finds that he can never get a read on the guy; Kenny’s just an enigma and whilst he can be fun as fuck, he tends to get this… _look_ in his eyes which leaves Clyde unnerved and on edge. Like, like there’s more to Kenny than meets the eye; it leaves him feeling like he has to be on his guard when he’s around the blond. It’s weird, ‘cause they’re friends, but there’s still something _off_ about Kenny.

He doesn’t really trust the guy after last year either; like okay, he had fucked up, but c’mon, it’s not like _Kenny_ is totally innocent either.

Clyde wrinkles his nose and shifts his gaze away, choosing to focus on Butters instead.

What he sees causes him to wince inwardly. Butters’ eyes look oddly red, his brows knitted together – he looks desperate and heartbroken. Clyde feels fucking awkward as shit, ‘cause goddammit, this whole thing really _is_ his fault. He _knows_ it’s his fucking fault, screw what Craig and Bebe had said, none of this shit would’ve happened, had he just kept his goddamn mouth shut last year.

He worries his lip before he clears his throat loudly – the guys in front of him jump in response.

“Sorry my dudes, but the party’s fucking died in there,” Clyde says sheepishly, holding up his hands, “I’m just grabbing some booze before I go and gate-crash Cartman’s Hot Tub Time Machine fantasy with Jimmy.”

“What?” Butters asks surprised, “well, where did everybody go?”

Clyde hums and tilts his head.

“Kyle ran after Stan and Wendy,” he answers, listing the answers off on his fingers, “and Token and Nichole have gone off to make babies in your weird sex cabin—"

“It ain’t a sex cabi— wait, what? B-But… I told _Craig_ about that cabin,” Butter says, looking oddly annoyed at himself as he knocks his knuckles together. Clyde furrows his brows and shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess Token overheard you talking about it and Craig was too slow to call dibs; he’s upstairs with Tweek right now,” he replies, not knowing why he has such an urge to comfort Butters. He knows that the dude probably still feels… like the whole thing is still too soon to really talk about, but it kinda feels like he _wanted_ to get rid of Craig.

He kinda gets it, but… still.

 _Not_ cool, bro.

“He’s still here?” Kenny asks, his lilac eyes lighting up with interest. It causes Clyde’s hackles to raise slightly – he’s not sure what the dude’s intentions are with his best friend, but Craig is gonna be a happily married man soon and he’ll be damned if _any_ blond fucker ruins that.

Besides, _he’s_ the best man, so it’s practically in his job description to protect the groom with his life!

The fact that there’s _two_ grooms means his job is _extra_ important!

“Yeah, but like I said,” he says, gesturing behind him with a flat expression, “he’s _upstairs_ with _Tweek_.”

Kenny’s eyes shutter slightly, growing dull as he seemingly reads the meaning in Clyde’s tone.

Besides him, Butters is watching Kenny with an expression that looks kinda pained, but also kinda _betrayed_ … it’s weird and before Clyde can really question it, Butters realises that he’s being watched. His face instantly smooths out into a neutral expression as he stares back at Clyde – it has his skin crawling with discomfort. He gulps inaudibly and knows that he can’t deal with this shit right now; he feels guilty, sure, but he can’t fucking _breathe_ in this room.

He needs to leave.

“Okay, so…” he drawls, snatching up several cans of cider, “I’m gonna bounce – peace, my dudes.” He flicks up an awkward peace sign at Kenny and Butters, before quickly absconding from the room. The silence is loud behind him, but he can’t focus on it, doesn’t _want_ to focus on it. He simply escapes whilst he can and makes his way through the lodge.

It always amazes him how _big_ the fucking place is – Uncle Budd must be doing some dodgy-ass shit to be able to afford such a swanky place. Token had once told him that the paintings on the wall were all vintage pieces and were probably worth millions… he has to steal one someday, it’s not like Uncle Budd would notice.

Dude is always too drunk or off his nut to really pay attention to the shit they do…

Well, apart from last year.

Clyde blanches – the guy had been so fucking mad after what they did, god, he honestly thought he was gonna fucking die.

Like, never mind surviving the wrath of his dad, he’s genuinely surprised that Uncle Budd allowed any of them to return; still, he isn’t gonna question that shit. After being stuck working at his dad’s boring shoe business for months, he kinda appreciates the fucking break.

“‘Sup my bro,” he says cheerfully, shooting a finger-gun at a nearby stuffed fox before he arrives at the glass doors leading to Uncle Budd’s backyard.

Clyde tucks his cans into the pockets of his coat and slides the backdoor open – the chilly air quickly flows in and he grimaces. Clyde steps out into the snow and slides the door shut behind him; he flexes his fingers and shivers as he stares up into the sky. It’s clear as fuck and the stars look really pretty, but it’s way too cold to really appreciate them.

Clyde pulls his coat closer around him and buries his face into his scarf – he doesn’t understand why they always fucking come up here during winter, like, what was wrong with spending summer here instead? Wouldn’t it make more sense to use a hot tub during summer – it makes more sense, right? He’s not being dumb again, right?

He battles his way into Uncle Budd’s backyard – it’s pretty small and way too close to the woods for his liking, like holy shit, doesn’t anyone understand that there are fucking _bears_ up here? Like, how can anyone be comfortable living _this_ close to the woods after the bullshit that was ManBearPig?

Christ.

Clyde makes his way towards the hot tub; it’s built into the porch and is raised several feet off the ground. It’s pretty sweet and easily fits at least five of them. A smile slowly grows on his lips as he remembers the good times with the hot tub – every single one of them has almost drowned in it at least once, either from being too drunk or from pissing someone off too badly.

He’s almost died at least three times in it, which is _almost_ a record, except Kyle seems to make it a tradition to drown Cartman in it at least _five_ times a visit, so…

Clyde wrinkles his nose – he doesn’t get their relationship. It’s weird and Craig says it’s ‘cause Cartman wants to bang Kyle, but that just makes him feel slightly ill to think about, so he just. Doesn’t think about it. Ignorance is bliss, y’know?

As he reaches the hot tub, he spies Cartman’s fat ass leaning into the tub, messing around with one of the jets on the side. Jimmy is on the other side, an impish smile on his face as his hand hovers over the button which turns the hot tub on.

Clyde grins and waves at Jimmy.

Jimmy beams at him back and nods pointedly towards Cartman.

Clyde thinks fuck it and announces his presence.

“Two bros, chilling by the hot tub!” he calls out cheerfully.

“Five feet apart, ‘cause they’re not guh-gay!” Jimmy dutifully answers, before slamming his hand on the button. Cartman jolts as his face and chest are hit with a strong spray of water. He splutters and retreats quickly, wiping at his cheeks angrily. He’s completely soaked, and Clyde’s heart has never felt so full as he laughs along with Jimmy. The mirth is short-lived when he spies the ire burning hotly in the fat bastard’s eyes and Clyde inwardly feels himself shrivel up a little.

“Goddammit, you guys!” Cartman spits, shrugging off his soaked jacket with an exasperated expression. He places it on the side of the hot tub, just to the left of Jimmy’s mustard-coloured coat, and sniffs irritably. Clyde shoots Jimmy a look – he hates Cartman, most people do, but hindsight is 20/20 and the least his friend could do was _not_ provoke the asshole.

Jimmy just shrugs with a lopsided grin.

“My bad Eric,” he says, without a shred of sincerity, “I had no idea the jets were that puh-puh-puh-powe— no idea that the jets were that puuuh— the jets were that puh-puh-puh— I had no idea that the jets were that strong!”

Cartman glares at him. “You sound like a liar Jimmy,” he says, “you’re not lying to me, are you, Jimmy?”

“Yeah, ‘cause Jimmy is the liar around here,” Clyde snipes, causing Cartman to round on him with heated eyes.

“Who the fuck asked _you_ , Clyde?” he demands, causing Clyde to recoil slightly, “you weren’t even invited out here!” He’s relieved when Jimmy inches in front of him, protectively shielding him from Cartman’s ire with a fierce frown on his face – Clyde almost winces; Jimmy’s disappointment almost feels as bad as his _dad’s_ does. Predictably, Cartman barely flinches, ‘cause the dude is downright _sociopathic_.

Urgh. Fuck Cartman.

“Says the guy who shouldn’t have been invited back at all!” he argues back, crossing his arms.

“I think you’re getting confused Clyde," Cartman says, with mocking concern in his voice, “seeing as what happened to Butters was all your idea.”

“My idea? What happened wasn—”

“Now, now fellas,” Jimmy interjects consolingly, shifting his weight on his crutches, “let’s not fight. No one wants a repeat of last year, after all.”

“He’s right, Clyde,” Cartman concedes, leaning backward with a sharp grin, “best to get over what you did, that way we can all move on with our lives.”

Jimmy sighs and looks to the sky in disbelief.

Clyde rears up – the fucking _nerve_ of this guy.

“What _I_ did? I just wanted them to talk!” he protests heatedly, “ _you’re_ the reason Butters almost died last year; I really don’t get why he’d want your fucking murdering ass back up here!”

“Woah, let’s not act like _I’m_ the killer around here,” Cartman says, wicked and mean, “or have you forgotten about your mom already?”

Clyde flinches violently – not many know, but he’s still haunted by his mom’s death. He knows his dad doesn’t really _blame_ him, but… he _feels_ guilty. It’s like a heavy cloud that hangs over his head and he’s not sure how to get rid of it, or if he deserves to be rid of it. Bebe calls it Survivor’s Guilt, which just seems dumb, ‘cause he’s Googled that shit and it doesn’t really fit him? He can’t ask anyone about it though; his friends have their own shit to deal with, they don’t need his crap on his plate too.

Still, he’s not gonna give Cartman _any_ fucking satisfaction that he’s got to him.

“I’m not a killer!” he shouts back, his hands clenching into tight fists, “and at least I never turned her into chili!”

Instead of shutting him up though, he seemingly riles Cartman up even more.

“Is that an admission of guilt I smell?” he asks sharply, and Clyde has to inch further behind Jimmy when the asshole advances on him. Jimmy holds up a crutch quickly and shoves it into Cartman’s chest, a heavy frown on his face.

“Unless this turns into some hot and steamy action,” Jimmy says, stabbing at Cartman again, “I suggest you drop it.”

Cartman blanches, recoils and rubs at his chest absently. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks Jimmy, and Clyde inwardly hates himself for agreeing with the fat fuck, ‘cause seriously, what the fuck?

“Dude, that’s _so_ gross,” he chimes in, wrinkling his nose as he gags at the images that appear in his mind.

Jimmy’s frown blossoms into an easy grin and Clyde knows that they’ve both fallen for his distraction. It’s one of his friend’s many talents, being able to diffuse temperamental situations and Clyde knows that he’s gonna be clinging onto Jimmy throughout this weekend.

“What, you never indulged in a little hate sex?” Jimmy asks, causing Cartman to pale significantly, “don’t knock it ‘til you tru-tru-try it!”

“Jimmy, shut the fuck up, I’m serious!”

“I’d rather get fucked by a bear!”

“Oh, fuck you Clyde,” Cartman spits, balling his fists up, “like I’d want you anywhere near my dick; you’re not even my type.”

Clyde scoffs. “I’m not arguing with that,” he says before he smirks at the asshole. Cartman freezes at the sight, narrows his eyes and seemingly steels himself for what Clyde has to say next, “guess your tastes runs a little taller than me—”

“The fuck are you talking abou—”

“—guess they gotta be ginger—”

“—don’t you fucking da—”

“—maybe have some Jersey in them—”

“—Clyde, I will fuck you up—”

“—be a little more… _Jewish_ —”

“Fuck you Clyde!” Cartman practically roars, before lunging at him. Clyde is prepared though, hunches his shoulders up and steps back, ready to take Cartman’s weight. He’s been tackled by the bastard before, he can take him… but Jimmy steps in front of him again, holding up a crutch and smacking it sharply against Cartman’s head. “ _Dude_ ,” he says, wounded as he rubs at his head. Tears have sprung to his weird-ass eyes and Clyde just stares at Jimmy with appreciation.

“Don’t be a pussy-ass bitch,” Jimmy says, rolling his broad shoulders back, “now, are we skinny-dipping this year, or what?”

“Dude,” Clyde breathes, ‘cause he _wishes_ he had an ounce of Jimmy’s chill, seriously.

Cartman, predictably, scowls and shakes his head firmly. “Like I want your fucking balls anywhere near me,” he spits, conveniently forgetting the fact that three years ago, they had all skinny-dipped in the hot tub, almost breaking it in the process. Clyde had been stunned at the time, ‘cause holy fuck, his friends were fucking _hot_ and they’d all seen him naked and he’s seen them all naked, and just holy _fuck_.

Well… he could’ve done without seeing a naked _Cartman_ , obviously.

Jimmy simply smirks in amusement at Cartman’s discomfort.

“Pruh-pruh- _prude_ ,” he snorts.

* * *

**1.03AM**

Craig sighs as Tweek nuzzles his throat sweetly, brushing chapped lips over a fluttering pulse gently.

They’re tucked tightly against each other, savouring each other's presence whilst atop the two beds they had shoved together earlier. Craig feels himself slowly dipping into the small gap between them, but he finds that he doesn’t really care when he has Tweek draped over him, showering him in little kisses. He stretches out his arms and pulls the blond against him, smiling broadly when his boyfriend laughs with delight. Tweek’s body is warm and soft against his own; Craig loves how healthy Tweek looks and feels; he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop adoring his boyfriend’s soft stomach and thighs, or the strength which lingers in his biceps, his shoulders… he even loves the tiny scars that litter Tweek’s arms and the burns covering his fingers.

He presses a sweet kiss to Tweek’s left hand, flicking his tongue out to gently lick a particularly painful-looking scar on his index finger. Tweek hums and nips his ear playfully – Craig bites his lip and squirms away, batting at Tweek’s face with a soft snort.

“Asshole,” he says affectionately.

“Love you too,” Tweek replies impishly.

Predictably, Craig melts in response and sighs happily.

“I’ve missed this,” he says because it’s true. Four months away from Tweek have been _hard_ ; Skype calls and the odd visit could never really itch the scratch of loneliness, but still. Craig is _thrilled_ to see that Tweek can thrive without him, that they can be two totally independent people and live separate lives. The first few days at Aurora had been difficult, to say the least. He couldn’t sleep due to his fears of Tweek not taking his medication, or his boyfriend relapsing, or _worse_ … Tweek’s parents showing up without warning.

He had tasked Tricia with the mission of looking after Tweek; now he kinda understands why she called him a fucking idiot.

“I’ve missed _you_ ,” Tweek says, which has Craig squeezing his boyfriend tightly against him in delight.

Fuck yeah, there’s _nothing_ quite like having Tweek physically with him, in gorgeous high-definition.

He tucks one hand behind his head and uses the other to stroke Tweek’s back, his fingers dancing along the spine. Tweek squirms against him, giggling with his mouth pressed tight to Craig’s throat – the sound vibrates against his pulse and it has Craig writhing in response, his neck too ticklish for his liking.

Tweek presses his hands against Craig’s chest and he feels his boyfriend slowly trace absent circles into the skin. He hums and presses a kiss to Tweek’s messy blond hair in response – it’s been a while since they’ve been able to just relax after spending time together. Normally, they have to worry about Craig’s parents bursting in, with some bullshit excuse about making sure they’re leaving room for Jesus… never mind that Tweek is a fucking Buddhist. Or worse, it’s Tricia who’s bored and is looking for some entertainment.

The lodge might suck, and the walls are thin as fuck, but at least it lacks the presence of his overbearing family.

The moment lingers as they stay entwined on the bed – it had taken Craig a while to get over being back in this room, but Tweek was quick to distract him from spiraling too hard. Now, it almost felt like last year had never happened… or maybe that was just the weird-ass magic of being around Tweek.

Speaking of, Craig’s eyes fly open when Tweek begins to shift on top of him, wriggling and pushing himself away from Craig. His boyfriend shoves himself into a sitting position, stretching his neck from left-to-right as he stifles a yawn.

“Are you feeling okay babe?” Craig asks curiously, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

“I always do when you’re with me,” Tweek replies sweetly. Craig flushes and feels warmth spread throughout his veins, “but now I feel gross, so I’m going to take a shower,” his boyfriend announces, reaching his arms upwards with a low purr as his back cracks. Craig wrinkles his nose and blanches at the sound; he’s quick to hide his disgust when Tweek peers down at him, his eyes dark and smoky, as his lips curl into a soft smirk, “want to join me?”

Craig hums and contemplates the offer before he shakes his head. “It’s a communal bathroom,” he says, “like hell am I gonna do anything in a place that _Cartman_ got naked in.”

Tweek twitches, horror flooding his features instantly. “ _Nngh_ , should I be worried about how often you think about a naked Cartman?” he asks, his body trembling slightly.

Craig snorts and nods. “Oh, absolutely,” he responds dryly, “hate to break it you babe, but I’m totally cheating on yo—” he cuts himself off, his face paling as he averts his eyes, “—never mind.”

He hears Tweek sigh quietly and then feels a pair of warm lips press against his temple.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” his boyfriend murmurs comfortingly; in response, Craig gives him a barely noticeable shrug and prays that Tweek just drops it. Nausea blossoms in his stomach and something sour hits his tongue hard – he tries to say something, but a lump forms in his throat instead. He can’t talk, he can’t fucking talk. Christ, if he talks, he’ll end up crying and the last thing Tweek needs is a fucking mess for a fiancé, “Craig, look at me?” Tweek asks gently.

Well, he can do _that_ at least.

His gaze flicks up to focus on Tweek’s pretty green eyes – they’re so clear and bright.

Craig latches onto the colour like it’s an anchor, ‘cause fuck, he feels like he’s drowning in his thoughts.

“Babe,” Tweek starts, stroking Craig’s hair softly, “you barely did anything—”

“I did enough.”

“—don’t interrupt me,” Tweek instructs, placing a soft finger against Craig’s lips. He waits until Craig nods shortly, “you _barely_ did anything, so please stop being beating yourself up? No one’s allowed to hurt my fiancé and that includes _you_ , got it?”

Craig furrows his brows and opens his mouth. Closes it again. Opens it and tries again.

“I’m not beating myself up,” he protests weakly, “I just…”

Tweek sighs and crosses his arms. “Do you really think I’d stay with you if I thought you didn’t love me? If I thought you didn’t want to marry me and be loyal?” he asks pointedly.

Craig sighs in defeat.

“I guess you have a point,” he concedes.

“I have many good points.”

“Yeah, you do. You’re so smart, babe.”

“I am,” Tweek confirms smugly, “that’s why you should _listen_ to me.”

Craig huffs out an amused laugh. “I already am, aren’t I?”

Tweek grins. “Yeah, I guess you’re pretty clever too,” he says, kissing Craig one last time, “but now I’m really going to have my shower. Be back in ten?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Craig promises, watching as his boyfriend slips off the bed and pads to their shared dresser. Tweek gathers his PJs, toiletries and a towel – Craig smirks at the PJs his boyfriend picked out; they were covered in little Sailor Neptune cartoons, complete with little water droplets. Originally a gag gift for Christmas a couple of years ago, Craig had been pleasantly surprised when Tweek had expressed his utter joy upon receiving them. The following Halloween saw them cosplaying as Sailor Neptune and Sailor Uranus – Craig snorts as he remembers the look on his dad’s face when he and Tweek had walked down the stairs in mini-skirts and oversized bows.

He bursts into sniggers when he remembers Clyde’s face when he and Tweek had walked into Token’s party. He had ended up playing therapist that night as Clyde descended into a full-blown sexuality crisis – funnily enough, it had ended abruptly when Craig had suggested a visit to Raisins.

Funny how shit happens.

“What are you laughing at?” Tweek asks, arching a brow. He clutches his stuff to his chest as he regards his boyfriend with a suspicious glare. Craig smile and props himself up onto his elbows.

“Remember when Clyde thought he was gay that one Halloween?” he asks, amusement colouring his tone, “when we wore those anime skirts?”

Tweek rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“We _were_ too hot to handle that night,” he says smugly, shifting his load from arm to the other, “although I still have my doubts about his apparent hetero-ness.”

Craig raises his brows. “Are you questioning our friend’s sexuality? After what we went through?” he asks playfully, “for _shame_.”

Tweek laughs and smacks at Craig’s leg sharply.

“Fuck off Tucker,” he remarks fondly before he turns on his heel and heads towards the door. Craig falls back onto the bed with an absentminded hum, stretching his limbs out with a deep purr. Exhaustion hits him out of nowhere – it sucks, but he’s truly a walking stereotype, where hooking up with his boyfriend always leaves him sleepy and prone to just dozing off without warning.

Luckily for him, Tweek finds it more endearing than irritating.

“Love you, tiger,” his boyfriend says with a soft lilt, before he slips out of the room, the door shutting soundly behind him.

Craig sighs heavily, feels his body sink deeply into the bed – he closes his eyes and prays for a dreamless sleep.

“Love you too honey,” he murmurs to himself before he slips into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **BEBE AND HEIDI ARE NOW SEPARATE FROM THE GROUP**
> 
> ****BUTTERS HAS FOUND OUT THAT CRAIG HAS STAYED BEHIND** **
> 
> ******~~NICHOLE AND TOKEN ARE GETTING COLD. WHAT SHOULD THEY DO?~~   
>  **~~\- TAKE THE SHORTCUT ACROSS THE RIVER~~   
>  **~~\- TAKE THE PROPER ROUTE ACROSS THE BRIDGE~~ ** ** ** ** **
> 
> ************YOUR CHOICE HAS BEEN MADE** ** ** ** ** **


	6. ACT ONE: Nichole II | Bebe I | Kyle IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note: there are implications of past sexual/child abuse in Kyle's section**

**NICHOLE AND TOKEN CHOSE TO TAKE THE PROPER ROUTE**

**12.51AM**

Nichole glances at the river and wrinkles her nose.

It probably wasn’t a good idea; whilst she might have a good chance of getting across, Token would definitely slip and break something – which would totally ruin their romantic evening. Sure, her boyfriend’s a talented athlete, but he has all the grace and balance of Bambi when he’s on ice.

So, with that in mind, Nichole takes Token’s hand and tugs him down the path leading towards the bridge.

“Don’t worry,” she says, rubbing her thumb over his chilly knuckles, “I’ll get you warmed up soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Token says, and she can hear the grin in his voice.

She almost purrs at him. “I love it when you hold me to things,” she says, leaning against him with a delightful hum. Token grins in response, tightening his grip on her hands as he swings their arms lightly. Nichole enjoys the serene silence that floats between them; all she can hear is the soft breeze and the crunching of fresh snow beneath their feet.

It’s so nice and peaceful, but she can’t help but think back to the lodge; despite being glad to get away from the awkward tension, she can’t quite quell the worry that swells within her gut. She really hopes no one gets hurt again… she isn’t the greatest mediator in the world, but she is pretty good at being a shoulder to cry on.

Still.

It would be nice to go back to the lodge and have everyone be friends again – which is wishful thinking, but whatever.

They finally get to the bridge and Nichole instantly feels unsettled. The wooden structure is coated in a thick layer of frost and appears to be seemingly solid…

She tests a foot on it – it creaks under her weight, but it remains steady regardless.

“You okay?” Token asks, nudging her gently.

Nichole shoots him a quick smile.

“Yeah,” she reassures him, pulling him up along the bridge, “seems pretty safe, right?”

Token snorts. “I don’t think Butters would recommend the cabin if he thought we were gonna die along the way,” he says, amusement dripping from his words.

Nichole hums in response; she can’t help but think about the fact that Butters actually recommended the cabin to _Craig_ , which.

Well.

Has _very_ unfortunate implications and—

Okay, so Butters wouldn’t actually _kill_ Craig, so maybe Token has a point.

Still, as she pads across the bridge, Nichole can’t quite quell the idea of Butters enacting some kind of weird-ass revenge on the guy who stole his crush away – but that seems more like a _Cartman_ -thing to do, so it’s pretty ridiculous to even consider seriously.

As they get halfway across the bridge, Nichole pauses and glances across the view.

“It’s quite pretty on here,” she comments, standing against the bridge’s wooden railing to gaze at the starry sky hanging over the frozen river. The dark woods don’t look so intimidating with the waning moon above them – Nichole glances at Token and grins impishly.

“What?” Token asks, suspicious and flat – he arches a brow and it’s such a masculine move that it makes Nichole’s stomach quiver delightfully.

“Take a picture?” she asks, nudging at his ankle pleadingly, “your camera is much better than mine, and it is a very romantic setting, so…?”

Token rolls his eyes and joins her by the railing, tugging his expensive phone out of his pocket. Token’s wealth has never really been a thing that Nichole’s given much thought about, but sometimes she gets hit with the reminder that her boyfriend is… well, pretty fucking rich. No one’s ever accused her of being a gold-digger, thankfully, but deep in her mind, she feels like… well, she needs to do something to level the playing field.

Which isn’t exactly a healthy thing to consider in a relationship, but Nichole can’t help what she feels.

“I got you, babe,” Token says, throwing an arm around her shoulders as he holds his phone up – their grinning faces reflected in the screen.

Nichole leans against Token’s body as he angles the phone downwards; she rests her weight on the wooden railings and beams up into the camera. Token ducks down to press a kiss to her hair and her heart just swells with love.

The sweet moment is ruined when a loud creaking echoes loudly into the serene mountain air.

The sound heralds the moment where the bridge railing snaps under her grip – the frozen wood has clearly rotted away from the recent weather and it gives way under her weight. The railing falls to the frozen river, shattering the ice and sinking down to the black, frosty depths.

Nichole screams as she flails, her arms fly upwards as she desperately tries to gain her balance – luckily, Token lashes out a hand and grabs onto her, yanking her to the safety of his embrace.

She lands soundly against his chest, her body trembling from shock as she clutches to him; the thought of falling into the river terrifies her and she feels unlimited levels of love for Token and his surprisingly quick reflexes.

“Holy shit Nichole,” Token gasps, and his arms are solid and warm around her, “you almost became a popsicle!”

Nichole utters a wet laugh as she pulls away from him – she’s not sure why she’s on the verge of tears, but just staring at Token’s dark brown eyes has her feeling so much safer and more grounded.

“But a pretty popsicle, right?” she asks, humming happily as Token tucks a single dreadlock behind her ear. She’s still shaking but she can slowly feel the fear ebb away within her body.

“The prettiest popsicle,” he confirms, and he spends a few moments just stroking her hair and staring at her face. Nichole feels so precious and loved under his gaze – she clutches at his broad shoulders and wills her heartbeat to calm the fuck down.

Her pulse is almost at a normal rate when Token suddenly pulls away from her, his eyes wide as he pats his body erratically, his face the picture of concern.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he chants under his breath, as he peers at the wood beneath their feet, glancing around desperately, “fucking _shit_!”

“Token?” Nichole prompts, “are you okay?”

Token releases a groan and peers over the edge of the bridge, careful to not get too close to the broken railing.

“My phone,” he says mournfully, gazing into the dark river, “I think I dropped it in the river. Goddammit, I just got that too.”

Nichole gives him a sympathetic frown and pats his shoulder soothingly.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” she says consolingly, “it could’ve been worse though. It could’ve been _us_.”

Token simply sighs and nods.

“My dad’s gonna kill me,” he says regardless, “that was a graduation present – hey, you think it will still work if we scoop it out? It’s waterproof, y’know?” Nichole’s heartstrings are tugged by Token’s hopeful tone and she reaches up to pat her boyfriend’s arm.

“Babe,” she says, “ _you_ won’t work if you try and scoop your phone out of _that_ ,” she gestures towards the frigid black water beneath them, “sorry to burst your bubble.”

Token merely pouts, pursing his lips sadly.

“You’re right,” he says before he casts his big brown eyes onto Nichole, “but I am sad.”

Nichole rolls her eyes and smiles, despite herself.

“Are you now?” she asks.

“ _Really_ sad.”

“You poor thing.”

“Might need some comforting.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Is that service you could provide?”

“Well,” Nichole says thoughtfully, “way to make me sound like a sex worker, but yeah. I think I can handle you.”

Token’s eyes light up with interest.

“I like it when you handle me,” he grins, easily taking her arm in his, “now come on; the longer we stay on this damn bridge, the quicker I freeze my balls off.”

“Aw,” Nichole pouts, “we wouldn’t want that.”

She allows herself to be led down the bridge; she gives the broken railings one last concerned look and prays that it doesn’t collapse during the night. It would suck trying to get back to the lodge if the whole thing came down… especially with the spotty reception up here.

The woods grow thicker as they traverse further down the path – they can hear squawking birds and howling wolves, but apart from that, everything is silent during the midnight hour. She mourns the loss of Token’s phone, ‘cause they’re missing so many lovely photo opportunities.

Her own phone doesn’t have a stellar camera… plus, she’s always been the type to stand in front of the lens and not behind it.

God – it’s probably worth looking for the phone in the morning, but she knows it’s optimistic to hope that they’ll find it. Even if they do, it’ll be waterlogged and frozen… they’ll be lucky if it even turns on.

She sighs and makes a mental note to text Token’s parents in the morning; even if it doesn’t send through, at least she can say she tried to contact them. Token’s parents are notoriously protective of their only son and she wouldn’t want them to freak out if they tried contacting him, only to get no response.

 _Especially_ after last year’s debacle.

They eventually come to a clearing, with a small ridge that overlooks the valley beneath it. Nichole runs over to the edge, careful to not lean her entire weight against the metal railings. She can spot the outline of the cabin and feels a spark of excitement ignite within her gut.

It’ll probably take them about ten more minutes to get to – either Butters has a warped sense of time, or he was lying when he told Craig about the length of the walk.

“Woah, I remember using one of these things in New York,” Token says, inspecting a viewfinder which is connected firmly to the ground. He’s poking at it curiously and Nichole watches with no small amount of amusement.

“Don’t you need money to make those things work?” she asks, looking at it critically. It looks broken and she’d be surprised if they saw anything at all through it. She watches as Token ducks down, peering through it eagerly.

“Well, looks like we don’t need any money, it works just fine. I can see our love-shack for the night,” he says with a broad grin, turning to wink at her before he focuses back on the viewfinder, “it’s definitely a fixer-upper and— oh _shit_!”

Token suddenly yelps, jumping and clutching at his chest as he visibly cowers from… _something_.

Nichole swoops upon him quickly, gathering him into her arms with a concerned furrow between her brows.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, petting at him softly – Token is wide-eyed with shock, panting heavily as he stares at the cabin in the distance.

“I… I thought I saw,” he utters, forcing the words out with some visible difficulty, “I thought I saw someone at the cabin.”

Nichole blinks.

“What?” she asks, turning to glance at the cabin. From this distance, she can only see the outline but none of the detail, “who?”

Token shrugs – he looks ashen, but his eyes are slowly becoming more alert. Nichole purses her lips and approaches the viewfinder, determination gleaming strongly in her eyes. She doesn’t like seeing her boyfriend like this, afraid and wary, and she won’t let _anything_ reduce him to this state _and_ get away with it.

Besides, she didn’t get nominated for Violently Protective Partner at their prom for nothing. Nichole inwardly sniffs as she remembers the evening – she had been _this_ close to winning too, if it hadn’t been for Tweek and his borderline terrifying ferocity when it comes to defending Craig and their relationship. Of course, the guy hadn't exactly reacted well when receiving the award, but Craig had assured him that it was just bullshit and no one actually considered him _violent_.

Regardless, Nichole can still give Tweek a run for his money.

“Wait, don’t,” Token says, clutching at her arm. Nichole rolls her eyes and shrugs him off.

“It’s fine,” she says reassuringly, “I’m just gonna have a peek.”

Token’s fingers twitch on her sleeve, but he reluctantly lets her go. Nichole shoots him a rueful smile and reaches up to grasp at the viewfinder’s handles. She peers through the lenses and hums as she focuses it onto the cabin. She finds it nestled amongst the woods – it’s a traditional wooden cabin, complete with a porch and a stone chimney. She peers around the surroundings, but can’t find the thing that spooked her boyfriend.

“It looks fine to me babe,” she reports, checking the place over, “it was probably another deer. Could’ve been Uncle Budd too – we don’t really know where he goes when we take over his lodge, so,” she shrugs, “here’s hoping he’s not staying there though. Doesn’t look like anyone’s inside.”

“Oh,” Token utters behind her. Nichole glances over her shoulder to see him pouting – she grins at him and punches him softly on the arm, “don’t laugh at me – you _know_ I startle easily.”

Nichole snickers as she returns her attention to the viewfinder.

“Home sweet home,” she sings softly, wrinkling her nose as she really takes in the cabin. Honestly, it looks frigid and devoid of life and ambiance – they’ll definitely need to start a fire. Ooh, just the thought of a roaring fire crackling in the background as she and Token cuddled up close… it’s enough to make her all tingly. She turns to Token and finds him practically sulking behind her.

“It’s cold,” he complains, tucking his hands under his armpits. He looks truly pathetic and Nichole can’t help but snort with laughter. She reaches up and tugs his arms free, encouraging him to wrap them around her body instead.

“Well then,” she purrs, leaning up to brush her lips against his jawline, “let’s go warm things up.”

* * *

**BEBE CHOSE TO TAKE HEIDI**

**12.49AM**

Bebe knows she’s pouting, but she can’t help it.

It’s been oddly quiet between them as they walk back towards the cable cart.

She doesn’t understand why it’s so… tense, but she’s not really sure how to break the silence. She’s also kinda _scared_ about being alone with Heidi. Ever since she’s admitted to herself that she _likes_ the girl, she’s found it incredibly… _terrifying_ , being around Heidi.

She doesn’t know if Heidi even _likes_ girls, but Bebe isn’t above some wishful thinking.

Although, it’s that kinda behaviour that had her fiercely declaring dibs when Kyle had mentioned being interested in Heidi again…

So. It’s not exactly _logical_ thinking, but whatever.

Kyle still backed off.

Bebe sighs and glances at Heidi again – the brunette looks so beautiful, all bundled up in her coat, with the snow falling prettily into her hair. She has such an urge to brush the flakes away from Heidi’s face, but… but she’s not brave enough to do that just yet.

Fuck.

What the fuck has happened to her? She used to be so confident when she thought boys were _everything_ to her – she could play them like puppets and seduce them without a second thought. Even _Clyde_ had been easy to mess with at first… then _feelings_ happened, and suddenly everything became so fucking hard.

She supposes the same thing’s happened all over again.

Goddammit.

She’s braver than this, come _on_.

“Hey Heidi?” she offers, but she’s interrupted quickly by her friend.

“Are you and Clyde still together?” Heidi asks quickly, the words tumbling from her lips in a rushed breath.

Bebe snorts, throwing her head back freely; her hair falls freely over her shoulders and joyful tears gather in her eyes. She’s so blindsided by Heidi’s question, she honestly cannot react in any other manner.

“Fuck no,” she splutters out, “he’s more like a _brother_.”

“You don’t like him anymore?” Heidi asks curiously, and Bebe feels her gaze piercing into her skull.

“I don’t like _boys_ anymore,” she replies pointedly.

“Oh.”

Heidi’s reaction is more genuine shock than anything else, which is pretty heart-warming honestly – Bebe isn’t exactly _out_ -out, per se. Sure, Wendy and Clyde know about her, Kyle too, thanks to a _very_ unfortunate incident involving vodka and calling dibs on Heidi, and she’s pretty sure Craig knows as well, but… she’s still firmly planted in the closet. Granted, the door is pretty ajar, but it’s still pretty closed.

“No one really knows,” Bebe continues with a half-shrug, “not yet—”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Heidi is quick to promise.

Bebe shoots her a grateful smile, before she glances away, humming thoughtfully.

“He was the first person I told, y’know? Clyde, I mean. It was a total accident too – we were on one of our ‘not a date’ dates at Raisins,” Bebe says, snorting at the look of distaste that Heidi shoots her, “yeah, I know, but it was kinda cool. Anyways, long story short, he caught me checking out Porsche who works there, and instead of, like, mocking me or getting mad for leading him on… he just told me I had terrible taste in girls and said that Mercedes was way hotter. We spent the whole night flirting with the waitresses and eating wings – it was the most fun I’d had in a while.”

“Wow, I never knew Clyde could be so… nice?”

Bebe laughs at the genuine surprise in Heidi’s voice. “Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she says, “he can be an utter asshole, but he’s _my_ asshole, y’know?” Heidi still looks confused, so Bebe pauses in her tracks and turns to face her friend. She rolls up a sleeve and shows Heidi her wrist – inked around the delicate joint was a series of looping chains, with a tiny heart that rested just above the bone. In tiny writing, the letters _C.D._ were clearly visible; Bebe keeps her gaze on Heidi’s face, biting her lip as she awaits some sort of reaction.

“You really love him, huh?” Heidi says, gently fingering the tattoo. Bebe feels her skin tingle under the soft fingertip and the urge to just kiss the pretty girl in front of her swells deeply from inside. God, it’s crazy how much she wants Heidi…

“He’s my brother from another mother,” she answers with a wink, “I mean, okay, we’ve done stuff that I _really_ wouldn’t do with an actual brother, but I can’t imagine doing any of that stuff now. Kinda makes me… gag.”

Heidi nods like she understands the sentiment.

Considering she used to date _Cartman_ , Bebe supposes she does.

“Have,” she begins, unsure and halting, “have you ever considered being with a… I mean, are you interested in anyone right now?”

Heidi looks mildly startled and Bebe feels her skin crawl – she really doesn’t want Heidi to think she’s being hit on, which, yeah okay, maybe Bebe is being a little invasive, but she doesn’t mean to scare the girl away. Fuck, maybe she _is_ being creepy, god, what was she even thinking?

It’s one thing for a friend to ask a question like that, but… a _lesbian_ friend who’s just come out to her? That’s gotta creep Heidi out, right?

“I mean… I haven’t really thought about it?” Heidi offers, unaware of Bebe’s internal distress, “I mean, after Eric, I kinda swore off relationships?”

Bebe’s heart sinks.

“But I guess I wouldn’t mind being with a girl,” Heidi continues obliviously, “would probably be a lot easier than being with a boy!”

Heidi laughs to herself and Bebe feels herself fall even deeper in love as her heart soars.

“You can say that again,” she says, carefully choosing her next words to avoid giving away her true feelings, “I guess _anyone_ would be a lot easier than Eric, right? I mean, I would take President Garrison over that sociopath.”

“Oh my god, totally,” Heidi says, giggling even harder.

Bebe feels like she’s floating along the path with every peal of laughter she hears.

Heidi is just too pretty, like how dare this girl be _this_ pretty?

Who gave her the right?

Bebe sighs happily and continues down the path until realisation hits her hard. She has no idea where they fucking are – the woods she’s normally familiar with have thinned out considerably. They’ve somehow wandered onto a cliff which overlooks the rest of the mountains, which is weird, ‘cause she’s never come across this place in all the time she’s come up here. Bebe can’t even see the cable cart from where she’s stood… she can’t really see _anything_ actually.

“Um,” she looks around the cliff, concern flickering across her pretty face, “where the fuck _are_ we?”

Heidi blinks and joins her in checking out their surroundings. “I guess… we took a wrong turn?” she suggests, slowly making her way further towards the edge. “I’ve never seen this place before; has it always been here?”

“I don’t know,” Bebe replies, feeling a shiver crawl up her spine, “we should turn around, find our way back.”

Anxiety coils in her stomach – it’s weird, but she feels… _watched_.

It doesn’t help that Wendy’s painkiller is slowly wearing off too, so her uterus is back to crippling her; god, it fucking sucks and all Bebe wants to do is find her bag, get back to the lodge and take a nice, long, hot soak in the tub.

“Heidi,” she calls out, hugging herself, “I think we should go back—”

“What the hell is this?” Heidi interrupts, horror colouring her tone. Bebe turns to find the brunette frowning at a large gap in the guard barriers placed around the edge of the cliff. She’s kinda surprised at herself for not even noticing the damage, ‘cause it looks… well, _extensive_. The metal looks violently destroyed – Bebe eyes it and reckons that something must’ve hit it hard and fast to cause damage _that_ horrific. Heidi wanders close to it, but Bebe’s instincts are screaming at her – she quickly latches onto her friend, pulling the brunette away from it.

“I don’t like this,” she says worriedly, swallowing anxiously when Heidi peers at her curiously.

“Don’t you want to check it out?” she asks, tilting her head, “it’s weird, don’t you think? Looks like a car’s hit it… but the only car I’ve seen around here is Uncle Budd’s. What else could’ve done this?”

“I don’t know,” Bebe says, frowning as she casts a glance at the barriers, “and I don’t _want_ to know. Now, let’s go – my uterus is declaring war inside my body and I’m pretty sure my panties are _this_ close to paying the price, so let’s _come on_.”

Heidi bites her lip and Bebe feels frustration bubble inside her.

“Are you sure?” Heidi asks, a furrow appearing between her brows, “I mean, we never did find out where Butters ended up last year. What if _this_ is it?” She gestures towards the barriers, a curious expression flickering across her face.

Bebe sighs, looks into Heidi’s pretty hazel eyes and considers her options…

* * *

**KYLE CHOSE TO SNOOP**

**12.43AM**

Kyle gives the bedroom door a fleeting glance.

He bites his lip and knows he probably won’t get another chance to investigate Uncle Budd, so he slowly pads further into the room. The room is icily still, and he feels slightly paranoid that any sudden movements will alert Butters to his intrusion.

He flexes his hands as he scans the room; he carefully avoids looking at the portrait of Butters.

Kyle heads towards the dresser – it’s old-fashioned, with candles and books resting atop it. The candles have been well-used, and they emit a faint scent of vanilla. He wrinkles his nose at the sickly smell and reaches for the books. The pages are yellowed, and the spines have been cracked – Kyle can barely read the titles, but as he flicks through one, he finds himself questioning why Uncle Budd would have this kind of random shit lying around.

One book is about Canada, which Kyle can kinda understand; another is about survival tactics in the wilderness, which Kyle can definitely understand.

The last one though?

The last one is about mythological creatures: sirens, nymphs, wendigos and other shit.

It seems more like something _Kenny_ would be into; as Kyle scans through the pages, he has half a mind to steal it and give it to his friend. Kenny eats this supernatural shit up, it’s almost like an obsession. It makes him the best guy to go to when you want a scary story at a sleepover and he’s the only person who’s successfully managed to unnerve Ike with one of his tales. Kyle remembers picking Ike up from a night over at Karen’s – he’d almost torn Kenny a new one for scaring his brother until Ike had expressed his delight for Kenny’s excessive detail and creative vocabulary.

Still… some shit should not be said around a ten-year-old.

Kenny should fucking know that.

He sniffs and places the book back onto the dresser, makes a note of the title and hopes he can find it on Amazon.

Kyle goes through the drawers and is disappointed to find nothing out of the ordinary – then he feels oddly disgusted with himself for getting disappointed. Did he want to find something weird and incriminating? He sighs and slams shut a drawer of Uncle Budd’s socks – he crosses his arms and pads over the wardrobe instead. Kyle purses his lips as he opens the doors and frowns at the sight; inside were just coats. Heavy, leather coats with multiple pockets lining them.

He tilts his head and pushes them aside, gritting his teeth at the surprising heaviness of them. The wardrobe is empty and again, Kyle questions why he’s so disappointed with the lack of… evidence? Is that what he’s looking for?

And if so, evidence of what?

‘Cause whilst Butters has told them what Uncle Budd did to him once, he can’t be entirely sure if Butters was telling the truth. Or if he even understood what had happened to him.

Regardless, being around Uncle Budd makes Kyle’s skin crawl – so… perhaps he’ll find something that leaves his fears unfounded?

He sighs and begins to retreat, when his eye catches a small box, tucked away in the corner of the wardrobe. He ducks down, avoiding the coats when they swish together as he releases his grip on them. Kyle reaches forward, grabs the box, and firmly tugs it forward.

“What the fuck?” he mutters to himself softly, sinking to his knees as he traces the edges of the box. It’s brown and wooden, with a grey metal trim – it’s kept closed by a thick lock, which has Kyle’s stomach twisting uncomfortably. He picks it up and shakes it lightly; it’s quite heavy and there’s definitely something inside rattling around… a few somethings, by the sounds of it. Kyle tests the lock, tugs at it a couple of times, and purses his lips. There’s no point in trying to break it, it’ll probably piss Uncle Budd off if he knew that Butters’ friends were snooping around.

Instead, he pushes it back into its hiding place and quickly stands, shutting the wardrobe doors.

Kyle crosses his arms and taps his foot irritably – there’s not much else in the room to inspect, apart from the bed. The fireplace is empty and there’s no other furniture around; bar the taxidermy on the walls, the room is actually quite barren.

He swallows and walks towards the bed; his skin prickles uncomfortably and his heart pounds fiercely in his chest.

He’s not sure why, but something about the bed just _terrifies_ him.

“Christ, what am I doing?” Kyle asks himself, as he reaches it. He bites his lip as he reaches out, brushing a hand over the thick blanket – the fur is coarse to the touch and feels weirdly stiff. It doesn’t exactly scream comfort, but he supposes a bed like _this_ isn’t meant for… well.

Let’s end that train of thought right there.

He pokes at the mattress gingerly – it’s hard and there’s barely any give. It almost seems brand new, which is odd considering how old everything else looks in the room. Kyle shudders as a shiver rips up his spine – he prods at the pillows and is intrigued when he hears something fall behind the bed.

Something… metallic.

Narrowing his eyes, Kyle tugs the pillow closest to him off of the bed.

His heart stops in his chest and his eyes widen at what he sees.

“What the fuck,” he mutters to himself, as he takes in the long, thin chain under the pillow – his mouth goes dry and his hand trembles as he tugs it towards him, pulling it free from where it had fallen over the side of the bed. His heart drops into his stomach when, at the end of the chain, a small handcuff lies connected to it. He can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breathe, fucking _Christ_ , what the fuck has he found. He holds the handcuff up to his line of vision – it’s silver and tarnished.

It’s also small. Like… unusually small.

He drops it like it’s burned him – it lands with a quiet thud on the mattress. Kyle stares at it with horror, his mind swarming with awful mental images. He remembers that dumb asshole detective holding that stupid doll, touching it in front of them and Butters’ little voice claiming that his Uncle Budd had done the same thing to him. Kyle’s skin fucking _crawls_ and he almost cries as he thinks about the awful horrors that could have taken place in this room.

He’s just not sure how… to even begin asking Butters about any of it.

Kyle sniffs and picks up the pillow, eager to hide the handcuff away from his sight. Shit, does Butters’ parents even know what Uncle Budd could be doing to their son? Like, they have to be oblivious, ‘cause yeah okay, they’re kinda useless, but Kyle _knows_ that Linda Stotch would fuck Uncle Budd’s shit up if she knew her son was being…

 _Christ_.

Kyle bites his lip as he grips the pillow hard – there are too many dots and he’s desperately trying hard to connect them, but he doesn’t like the picture he’s seeing.

He’s also… hesitant to start accusing people; he’s learned at Harvard about the dangers of throwing around accusations without solid evidence. Like, okay, everything looks dodgy, but what if Uncle Budd is just into some kinky shit? Like, he probably just brings up some weird mountain women for some weird mountain fun, right?

 _But then why is Butters’ photo on the wall_? a small voice asks, quietening down the devil’s advocate in Kyle’s brain.

A lump grows inside his throat and then _sinks_ like lead, straight into his stomach.

“This is so fucke—”

“What are you doing?”

Kyle jumps and drops the pillow back down; he spins and clutches at his chest.

“Butters,” he gasps, guilt hitting him like a freight train, “how… how’s it hanging?”

Christ, he’s so fucking stupid sometimes.

Butters gazes at him; his eyes look unnervingly empty in the moonlit room. Kyle feels his hands grow clammy and he subtly wipes them on his jeans as he inches closer to the blond.

“You… shouldn’t be in here,” Butters says, and it’s weird ‘cause his voice has gone all distant.

“Sorry, I was trying to find some painkillers for Stan,” Kyle explains. He honestly feels like he’s drowning in concern – he has some many friends he needs to keep an eye on: Kenny, Cartman, Stan, fuck Craig and Tweek too probably… Clyde, maybe?

But no one needs looking after more than Butters.

Shit, speaking of which…

“We’re sorry,” he says quickly, feeling very small in Uncle Budd’s creepy bedroom, “by the way.”

Butters blinks at him.

“We…?” he echoes hollowly, tilting his head.

“Me and Stan,” Kyle elaborates, “we… we’re sorry, really dude.”

The room is dark and cold and horribly silent.

Kyle hates it, and the urge to fill the silence has him babbling before he can stop himself.

“You know Stan didn’t mean anything by what he said,” he says, his gaze falling to the floor in shame, “we _do_ like you Butters, seriously, we do. He was just mad, and I… I really shouldn’t have blown up at you like that either. You just wanted… to have some fun and we just,” he trails off, throws his hands up wordlessly, “ruined it for you.”

The _again_ is unspoken but hangs heavily between them.

“Gee, Kyle,” Butters says quietly, “it’s okay – it’s nice havin’ you fellas around again. I’ve missed you guys.”

“Yeah,” Kyle agrees easily, his heart aching at the longing tone in Butters’ words, “it’s weird not being around you guys 24/7 – kinda doesn’t _feel_ like we’ve been away from each other though, which is a relief. It’s gotta be weirder for you though, right?”

Butters blinks, looking confused but also kinda startled.

“What?” he utters, cocking his head.

“I mean, with you being in Canada?” Kyle says, furrowing his brows, “it’s gotta be different up there, right?”

Butters nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says, “Canada sure is strange; it’s nice being with Charlotte though! Her family is super good to me – makes it easier for me being away from my mom and dad!” His tone is warm, but his eyes… they’re still cold and Kyle feels panic slowly web throughout his veins, clutching at his heart in an icy grasp.

“Oh, cool… you’re in Ottawa, right? Ike says it’s really nice there,” he says, desperate for some normalcy in the tight tension that builds between them.

“Sure is,” Butters says, with a quirk of his lips, and a small voice in the back of Kyle’s head whispers, _he’s lying, he’s lying, he’s lying_.

“Yeah, I would’ve visited you, dude,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly – the voice sounds like Ike, but he quashes it quickly, “but I’m still classified as a war criminal – can’t go anywhere near the border, or they’ll shoot me on the spot. Ike’s been trying to get the bounty lifted, but I kinda get the feeling he finds it to be, I don’t know, karmic retribution? So, I don’t think he’s trying very hard.”

Butters smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, that’s fine Kyle,” he says, shrugging half-heartedly, “I’ve been busy myself so, I wouldn’t have time to have pals over. Plus, Thomas is super strict about Americans in his home, so I don’t think he would’ve liked me having guests over.”

“Oh,” Kyle utters, “well, maybe you could come and visit me then? I think you’d really like California.”

Butters offers him a fragile smile. “That sounds really nice Kyle,” he says, “maybe I will.”

Kyle nods, like he’s happy to have Butters visit him… but honestly, he’s agreeing with Imaginary Ike.

 _HE’S LYING, HE’S LYING, HE’S LYING,_ Ike chants in his mind.

There is a module on his degree which focuses on looking for signs of dishonesty in clients, from body language to tone of voice; right now, Butters is showing all the signs of someone who has something to hide. It triggers the inner lawyer in Kyle, and he knows that he needs to uncover the truth.

He’s just kinda unsure as to how far he can take it… Butters is his _friend_ , not his client.

He’s also not a fully-qualified lawyer.

Still.

He wants to help Butters out.

“Hey, you know you’re my friend, right?” Kyle asks, light and free from any underlining judgment or accusation. Butters wrinkles his nose, a small furrow appearing between his brows and he considers Kyle’s question.

“Well, sure Kyle, I know that,” he says, cocking his head.

“Then… you know that, as your friend, I care about you. And you can tell me anything… like, if something is scaring you, or if something is upsetting you,” Kyle pauses and mulls over his next words carefully, not wanting to cause Butters any unnecessary distress, “or if _someone_ is hurting you.”

He inches closer to Butters; the blond hugs himself tight and his body is quivering.

“You know you can trust me,” he says, and all he can hear is Butters erratic breathing and his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears, “you do trust me, right?”

He watches as Butters visibly swallows and nods jerkily.

“I trust you Kyle,” he says, and Kyle really wants to believe him, he does… but he honestly wouldn’t blame Butters for not trusting him; after everything they’ve done to him, he’s pretty surprised that Butters still _talks_ to them, never mind considers them his closest friends. So, instead of calling the guy out on his lie though, Kyle smiles gratefully at the blond and inches closer.

Butters’ body stills instantly, his eyes wide with something that looks like _fear_. Kyle’s stomach churns sickeningly at the implications and he freezes quickly.

He doesn’t like the thought of anyone being scared of him.

“So… _are_ you okay?” he asks hesitantly, which causes Butters to blink, as if he’s suddenly remembered where he is and who he’s with, “are you… safe?”

Though Butters no longer looks like he’s ready for a fight, his face loses what little colour it has.

“Fine Kyle, I’m just fine,” Butters says, but he sounds quiet and distant. His pale eyes look around the room, discomfort rolling off his body is waves. “Um, we should… not come back in this room. Uncle Budd wouldn’t like it if he knew we were messing with his stuff.”

Kyle nods easily and gestures towards the door.

Despite his inner Ike yelling at him for pussying out, Kyle just knows that pushing the issue will just upset Butters, which is the _last_ thing he wants to do.

“I’m fine with that,” he says, and he’s quick to follow his friend who nimbly slips out of the room. Kyle gives Uncle Budd’s bed one last glance and shivers before he closes the door soundly behind him. The moment it shuts, Kyle feels the atmosphere lighten considerably.

Even Butters looks more relaxed, his pale eyes brighter and more alert.

Kyle shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks on his heels; he’s never really felt awkward around Butters before, but right now he feels weird as fuck. They’ve been friends since _forever_ , but right now Kyle just doesn’t know what to say.

Or do.

He just knows that he doesn’t want Butters to feel anymore… _ostracised_ , than he possibly already does.

“So, what’re you up to now?” he asks lightly, ‘cause what else is he supposed to say? Butters just shoots him a lopsided smile and shrugs.

“I have to do something, then I’ll come find you guys?” he suggests lightly – this time, his smile actually reaches his eyes, which warms the very cockles of Kyle’s heart. He reaches out and squeezes Butters’ shoulder softly.

He chooses to ignore the subtle flinch he gets in return.

“Sure thing, Butters,” Kyle says warmly, “maybe we could play Truth or Dare this time? Although, we should probably ban any kissing dares this year,” he finishes, furrowing his brows. Kissing dares weren’t exactly _exciting_ anymore – Kyle’s pretty sure he’s kissed all of his friends at this point, but that wasn’t the point. They had played it last year and he’s pretty sure it was the catalyst for everything that then went down.

Fucking _Cartman_.

Regardless, Butters grins eagerly – he still appears to be content with pretending that last year never happened. If it helps him cope with last year’s trauma, then Kyle is fine with letting him continue with the charade.

Besides, last year’s incident significantly pales when compared to whatever the fuck is going on with Uncle Budd.

“Well, gee Kyle,” Butters says brightly, “that sounds great! I’ll go get the other fellas and we’ll play a game before bed. Normally I need to be asleep by ten, but my curfew got extended for this weekend – it’s gonna be so much fun!”

Kyle grins in response – Butters’ excitement is infectious and it’s good to see the blond smile genuinely for once.

“Cool,” he says, “I’ll see you later then, yeah?”

Butters nods, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight that slithers through the curtains. The urge to ask him if he’s okay again is just on the tip of Kyle’s tongue – it’s right there, he really wants to ask…

But he can’t.

Instead, he stays quiet and watches as Butters disappears down the hallway; his heart is aching and he wishes Butters would just tell him the truth, but it is what it is. He has two more days to figure shit out, but he knows he’s not leaving the blond alone with his creepy-ass uncle, not anymore. If he has to kidnap Butters and stow him away to Stanford, he fucking will.

Which, thinking about it, will probably cause some issues considering his degree, but whatever.

Kyle sighs, ruefully shakes his head and finally makes his way to his own room.

Stan’s still waiting for those painkillers, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TOKEN HAS NOW LOST HIS PHONE  
>  **TOKEN SAW SOMETHING BY THE CABIN****
> 
> ******KYLE HAS BEEN CAUGHT SNOOPING BY BUTTERS  
>  **KYLE IS NOW SUSPICIOUS OF UNCLE BUDD AND THINKS HE’S HURTING BUTTERS**** ** **
> 
> **********BEBE'S RELATIONSHIP WITH HEIDI GREW STRONGER  
>  ** ~~BEBE AND HEIDI HAVE COME ACROSS THE SITE OF AN ACCIDENT – WHAT SHOULD THEY DO?~~  
>  ** ~~\- INVESTIGATE, IT LOOKS SUSPICIOUS~~  
>  ** ~~\- DON’T INVESTIGATE, IT LOOKS DANGEROUS~~******** ** ** ** **
> 
> ******************YOUR CHOICE HAS BEEN MADE** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **


	7. ACT ONE: Bebe II | Nichole III | Tweek I

**BEBE AND HEIDI CHOSE TO INVESTIGATE**

**12.53AM**

“Okay, fine!” Bebe snaps out, hugging herself tightly, “but a quick look _only_!”

Heidi beams at her gratefully, before carefully approaching the gap in the railings. Bebe watches her walk up to the damage and slowly follows after her, making sure to stay close just in case the cliff’s edge isn’t _as_ stable as it appears. Heidi settles onto her knees, a couple of feet away from the damage, and reaches out to gently prod at the frosted metal.

“What do you think could do this?” Heidi queries out loud, poking at the jagged edges with a single gloved finger.

“It has to be a car, right?” Bebe suggests, eyeing the torn railings with a critical squint, “I mean, nothing else could’ve caused damage this big, right? Not a bear, or a deer… like, someone drove the fuck off this cliff, let’s be real.”

“I guess… but it doesn’t make sense. I’ve only seen Uncle Budd’s car up here and we watched him drive off earlier in his truck.” Bebe blanches as she remembers Uncle Budd bidding them farewell – he had eyed them up with such a creepy grin, before giving Butters an uncomfortably long hug.

Kenny had joked about setting his truck on fire once the bastard had left.

Bebe kinda wishes they had just given him a lighter and let him have his fun.

Urgh.

“Yeah, and this damage looks pretty old,” she says, ‘cause it’s true. The layer of ice around the edges looks too thick for it to have been a recent accident. Plus, there are no tracks in the snow around them – she kicks some snow about to uncover the ground underneath and frowns.

No tracks under the snow either.

Weird.

“But,” Heidi pauses, glancing at the trees around them, “surely if it was a car accident, there’d be more… I don’t know, damage? To the trees, right?”

Bebe sighs, “I guess?” she says, throwing up her arms, “if someone lost control of their car up here, then it would make sense for woods to be a little fucked up. Unless… someone just drove here and then, I don’t know, couldn’t stop? Didn’t know there was an edge until it was too late?”

Heidi sighs and pulls out her phone.

“I need to ask Butters about this,” she says, tapping away at her Notes app, “none of this makes any damn sense.”

Bebe blinks and bites her lip as another wave of pain flares up.

“Cool, could we ask him later?” she asks, swallowing hard as her body is wracked with pain, “like, leave _now_ and ask him later?”

“Just one more moment, I promise,” Heidi murmurs, gazing up at Bebe with big eyes. The blonde curses herself for being so weak and nods quickly – goddamn, the brunette is lucky she’s so fucking pretty. Heidi grins and nods her thanks, before shifting closer to inspect a long, dark mark on the surface of the metal.

“Brown paint,” she murmurs, scratching at the mark softly, “from a brown car? Can’t be Uncle Budd’s truck then, it’s blue.”

“Can’t think of anything else that could tear through this,” Bebe says, a tad impatient as she gestures to the large gap with pursed lips. She stands and peers over the edge, wrinkling her nose. The drop is quite steep, but it’s too dark to see anything at the bottom. She tugs her phone out of her pocket and opens up the camera – she holds it over the edge and snaps a photo. The flash goes off but after glancing at the photo, she finds that it didn’t do anything to help. The image is dark, blurry and doesn’t help answer any of Heidi’s questions.

Bebe tucks her phone away and glances around – the pain from the PMS is horrifically sharp now, it’s biting and if she doesn’t get another painkiller soon, she’ll be reduced to a tiny ball on the floor, crippled in agony and utterly useless.

She whimpers and rubs at her stomach, glancing around for somewhere decent to sit and rest. Fuck Heidi’s insatiable curiosity, it’s gonna get one of them killed, fuck. Bebe slowly staggers towards the tree line, when she spies something incredibly odd, resting against one of the trees. Furrowing her brows and flinching from a bubble of pain, she makes her way towards the object – Bebe glances behind her to see Heidi taking notes on her phone.

The brunette is wonderfully smart, but also incredibly stubborn. One sniff of a mystery and that’s Heidi checked out of reality – which is endearing, but god, Bebe wishes that Heidi was more interested in the mystery of her missing toiletries bag.

Bebe sighs as she reaches the weird object – her heart freezes in her chest when she realises that she’s starting at a bouquet of flowers.

“What the hell?” she asks aloud, ducking down to squint at the bouquet. Someone must have hastily thrown it together – the flowers were all frozen and dead, and the ribbon tying it together was frayed and faded. It didn’t look like the type of bouquet one would buy in a store – rather, the flowers looked like the ones that grew around the lodge, “do you think Uncle Budd left this here?”

Heidi shudders as she joins Bebe by the mini memorial. “I can’t imagine that man caring about anything enough to leave flowers behind,” she says, wrinkling her nose with distaste, “it _is_ sad though – I mean, it has to mean someone died here, right?”

“I can’t find a card, or a note though,” Bebe says, gently pushing the frozen flowers around and wincing when a frozen bloom falls to the ground, “aw, shit.”

Heidi frowns, sympathy lining her pretty face as she gingerly cups a flower. “They look like the wildflowers near the lodge, don’t they?” She brushes a finger over what could have been a purple petal and sighs sadly. “I wonder if Butters knows what happened – I mean, the crash looks old, but these flowers…”

“They do look kinda fresh,” Bebe says, before huffing out a dry laugh, “I mean, for dying flowers, that is.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely asking Butters about this when we get ba—” Heidi freezes, her words cut off as a loud crack echoes throughout the woods behind them. They both jump up and turn to stare at the dark trees surrounding them – Bebe flushes when Heidi stands in front of her protectively. She reaches out to tug at Heidi’s arm and jolts when another loud crack pierces the sky.

The sound ripples through them and they both stand there, waiting. Bebe watches as wisps of air flows from her lips – terror grips her heart with icy claws, and it does not help the pain that coils in her abdomen. She whimpers when a third crack comes from the woods – it’s distance though, like whoever is there is leaving them.

It does little to calm her nerves though.

“Heidi,” Bebe says, her voice quivering, “please, please, _please_ can we go now?”

Heidi nods and takes Bebe’s hand into hers; Bebe’s heart skips a beat as she threads their fingers together. She allows Heidi to tug her back onto the path, her eyes flickering around the trees as she strains her hearing for further scary noises. Luckily, there isn’t a fourth crack… but Bebe doesn’t exactly _feel_ lucky right now.

“It’s probably a bear, right?” she babbles, unable to prevent the words from falling out her lips, “like, Clyde is always talking about bears being up here, so it’s… it’s a bear, yeah? Yeah. Definitely a bear, I’ll have to ask him to put more traps out. God, I can’t believe I totally mocked him last year, I’ll have to apologise to him, urgh, he’ll be super smug about it,” she laughs nervously, thankful that Heidi seems to be content to just let her ramble on, “I can just see his squishy smirk, urgh.”

“It’ll be fine Bebe. Come on, let’s go save your uterus,” Heidi says, with a shaky quirk of her lips, “then we can interrogate Butters about bears and frozen flowers. Sounds good?”

Bebe wrinkles her nose – Heidi is trying to make her feel better, but it’s not really working. Though she appreciates the gesture, all she can think about is bears and car crashes and creepy nameless memorials.

“Sounds good,” she lies, inwardly praying that Sunday evening comes quick, “you know, you’re really brave Heidi.”

Heidi laughs bitterly as she gazes back at Bebe; the blonde feels her cheeks grow warm when the brunette’s smile softens considerably.

“Not really. I think I’m only brave right now because I’m with you,” Heidi says, her words soft and fragile in the gentle breeze. Bebe feels her heart shudder in her chest, her legs have practically melted and there are so many things on the tip of her tongue. But, she’s too scared to say them aloud, so instead, she squeezes Heidi's hand and smiles sweetly.

“You make me feel brave too,” she admits, averting her gaze quickly when Heidi blinks in shock, “so, let’s stick together, okay?”

Heidi rubs her thumb across Bebe’s knuckles **–** it’s like being shocked by lightning and Bebe could see herself getting _addicted_ to the feeling.

“Okay,” Heidi says firmly like it's a promise, like Bebe can trust her implicitly.

And holy shit, she _does_ , she really fucking does.

So Bebe tightens her grip on Heidi and trusts the brunette to lead her safely through the dark woods.

* * *

**1.09AM**

They finally reach the goddamn cabin.

Token opens the door and Nichole’s hopes of a romantic evening are completely dashed.

The cabin is dusky and clearly hasn’t be used in a while – she guesses it really wasn’t Uncle Budd they had seen earlier, but a deer or something, ‘cause no human has been here in a while. It’s weird that Butters even recommended it, but then she sees the fireplace and the dusty sofa and thinks… well, it could be worse.

It’s not a complete shithole, but Nichole’s slept with boys in _nicer_ places.

“Okay, we are _not_ touching the table, or the walls, definitely not that rug,” Token dictates, as he walks around the cabin with disgust written across his features, “I’m not even taking my clothes off in the shower—”

“Babe,” Nichole hums, waltzing up to him with an indulgent smile, “we’ll be fine, stop worrying—”

“—that’s all well and good, but I got this voice inside my head that’s screaming at me to get checked for diseases once we head back to New Jersey,” Token says, peering at the only table in the room and gagging at a suspicious stain printed onto the wood, “the voice kinda sounds like Tweek.”

“Of course it does,” Nichole grins, pulling Token away, “come on babe, don’t look too closely or you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

Token blanches and pulls away from her to rush over to the bedroom – she sighs and rolls her eyes. She counts to three in her head; predictably, Token’s outburst of disgust sounds throughout the tiny cabin the moment she hits one.

“Nichole! Have you seen this _bed_ – I don’t know what planet Butters is living on, but this is not the romantic getaway I imagined,” he says, marching back into the room, “also, if you need to pee, do it outside – we are _not_ sitting on that toilet.”

“Woah,” Nichole utters, hands on her hips, “and to think, Butters recommended this place to _Tweek_.”

“He would have died,” Token says seriously, and Nichole believes him, she really does.

She shakes her head and peers around the room; she gives the bedroom a miss and heads straight towards the fireplace. There’s a small sofa and a rug perfectly placed in front of it – the rug looks like a bearskin, which leaves a sour taste in Nichole’s mouth. She gives it a wide berth as she ducks down in front of the fireplace – she takes a couple of logs from the basket beside it and tucks them into the log burner.

“Gross,” Token mutters behind her – she feels him kick at the rug and has to bite back a smile. Her boyfriend, despite enjoying all the gross things that any normal boy would, had a very privileged upbringing; it’s quite cute seeing his snobby side, to be honest. She hears him sit onto the sofa and she glances over her shoulder – he’s very delicately perched on the edge and Nichole snickers at the look of consternation on his face.

“Token,” she giggles, “you’re such a _princess_.”

In response, Token gives her a flat look and crosses his arms.

“I am not a princess,” he says, which makes her laugh harder. Instead of uselessly arguing with him, she turns back and takes out the matches from her belt – she ignites one and throws it into the log burner. The sound of crackling wood slowly builds; it’s music to Nichole’s ears as she shivers with delight when the soothing flare of warmth blossoms in front of her.

Fuck yeah, her romantic evening finally has some potential!

“Ta-dah,” she trills, spinning around to curtsey in front of her boyfriend. Token applauds her cheerfully and pats the seat beside him.

“Come on,” he encourages with a wink, “you promised to warm me up – leave the belt on.”

Nichole snorts and shakes her head, shrugging off her jacket and kicking off her snow-boots. She watches as Token wriggles out of his coat, his hands flying to his belt as she joins him on the sofa.

“Unless you want to get accidentally tasered in the dick,” she says, tapping her taser pointedly, “I suggest the belt comes _off_.”

“Killjoy,” he pouts, but his arms wrap around her instantly when she slips her utility belt off. He watches as she places it gently on the floor, “before we sleep tonight, we’re using that mosquito stuff on the bed. And the windows. And the pillows.”

“Want me to spray it on this sofa too?” Nichole dryly asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Could you?” Token shoots back, too eager for her liking.

“No,” she rejects firmly, “now stop being fussy and come kiss me!”

Token dutifully follows her command and throws himself at her, pressing her firmly against the sofa. She giggles as his hands clutch at her hips, her legs wrapping around his trim waist as he kisses her deeply. She buries her hands into his hair, clutching onto the soft locs desperately as her body arches up against his – her skin tingles and burns as she drags his fingernails up her waist. Pleasure sparks inside her and she chases it eagerly, using her legs to pull Token’s strong body against hers.

She hums as Token kisses down the slope of her neck – she clutches at his top and tugs at it insistently. He takes the message and leans back to pull it off; Nichole melts at the sight of Token’s chest, strong and defined, and reaches up eagerly. Token grins as she drags him back down, her lips finding his quickly.

Just as Nichole feels herself sink into her boyfriend’s touch, she finds herself being rudely snapped out of her little cloud of pleasure when the sound of shattering glass suddenly echoes throughout the cabin. Token jolts on top of her and pulls away, staring off in the general direction of the bedroom. Nichole cranes her neck to look backward, her heartbeat loud in her ears as she waits for… something else to happen.

There’s a small pause of silence, before the quiet buzz of static and tinny voices slowly filters through the cabin.

“What the hell…?” Token mutters, clambering off her to gingerly pad towards the bedroom.

“Babe,” Nichole utters, reaching out for him as panic creeps into her veins, “don’t.”

Token pauses and glances down at her – he holds out a hand and grins. “Safety in numbers?” he offers, and Nichole takes his hand gladly, threading their fingers together with a soft smile.

“Obviously,” she responds, pushing herself off the sofa to join Token in investigating the source of the sound.

They slowly make their way towards the bedroom – alongside the muffled sounds of voices, Nichole can hear the loud, swirling winds of winter. She wrinkles her nose, slightly confused, but as they turn the corner. The bedroom window has been shattered, glass and snow coating the floor. Token tugs his hand away from hers to pick his way carefully through the mess – he ducks down to pick up the object nestled amongst the debris and Nichole’s stomach churns uncomfortably.

“Oh fuck,” Token mutters, horror and confusion threading through his words. He stands up and slowly turns to face Nichole. She has crane her neck to see what’s scared him – she feels fear flood her guts when she sees his phone, cupped between his shaking hands.

But that’s not all.

Because the phone _isn’t_ wet, and it is _working_ – and it’s playing _the_ video.

 _‘Are you sure about this Eric?’_ Butters is saying and god, he looks so different – he looks _healthier_ , his face isn’t so sharp, and his eyes aren’t so cold and empty. He looks excited and innocent and yeah, okay, no one is exactly _innocent_ when they’re native to South Park, but. Well. He doesn’t look like the hollow husk of a guy that Nichole had greeted earlier.

‘ _Dude, I’m seriously_ ,” Cartman says, which makes Nichole’s skin prickle, ‘ _Kenny told me himself – he wants to talk to you, so just wait here!’_

_‘B-But this is the bathroom—’_

_‘Butters, you’re breaking my balls here,’_ Cartman interrupts briskly, ‘ _the acoustics in here are amazing, okay? Kenny apparently needs good acoustics for heartfelt confessions, got it?’_

 _‘Uh, well, okay then!’_ Butters says, not questioning it for a second. It’s odd that he’s not even a little suspicious, but judging from the bright blush on his cheeks, Nichole guesses he’s overcome with gooey feelings.

It’s understandable, but kinda heart wrenching to witness… again.

Unbeknownst to Butters, Cartman shoots the hidden phone a sly smirk before he absconds outta the room. Nichole sighs and sees the guilt on Token’s face – it’s _his_ phone, tucked behind a cup of toothbrushes. The camera is focused on the toilet, where Butters is sitting, worrying his fingers with reddened cheeks. Nichole pouts sadly as she reaches out a finger to brush over the image.

“This is horrible,” she murmurs, and Token hums in agreement.

They watch silently as Butters sings quietly to himself and it’s like she’s been transported back in time – she sees herself sat on the sofa again, in between Heidi and Token, staring at the television with mounting horror in her guts.

‘ _Lu, lu, lu, I got some apples,_ ’ Butters lilts happily, but he’s nervous… his words are shaky and Jesus Christ, how did Cartman think this was gonna be funny? She watches as the blond sings to himself before he jolts on the screen and looks up eagerly…

‘ _Kenny, we can’t do this,’_ Craig’s voice can clearly be heard – there’s no such thing as soundproof walls when it comes to the lodge, Christ, they might as well be made from rice-paper, so Nichole _knows_ that every word of his conversation with Kenny will be clearly heard. They might’ve been in Craig’s shared bedroom with Tweek, but that hadn’t done anything to muffle the words that would come next.

Nichole sees the confusion flicker over Butters’ face on the screen and feels _sickened_.

She blanches and closes the video quickly.

“I don’t want to watch anymore,” she explains when Token glances down at her. He nods shortly before irritation flickers across his face. His grip tightens on his phone and he turns on his heel towards the door. “Babe, what are you doing?”

Her boyfriend tends to have a one-track mind when he reaches the peak of emotional disarray, and Nichole is suddenly terrified. She chases after him as he bursts out of the cabin, waving the phone around angrily.

“Listen Cartman,” he hollers into the still winter air, “it wasn’t funny last year and it’s not funny now! Give this shit a goddamn break – just because you can’t get with _Kyle_ , doesn’t mean you have to ruin everybody else’s relationships! You can fuck with Butters, but you can’t fuck with me! Leave me and Nichole _alone_!”

Nichole watches, wide-eyed and wildly aroused as Token storms back into the cabin. His body is tight with tension as he glares down at his phone, his chest rising and falling with every irate pant he takes. Token very rarely gets mad – he’s actually very mild-mannered, but there’s something about _Cartman_ that never fails to grind his (everyone’s, now that she thinks about it) gears. It’s quite the sight to see, honestly.

Token’s gaze shifts from the phone to his girlfriend and well.

Nichole recognises _that_ glint in his eye.

She’s about to throw herself at him—

“Token!”

“Shi—”

—but _something_ gets to him first.

It all happens too fast for her to truly comprehend – a shadow just _appears_ behind Token, wraps two long, long, _long_ , (why are they so terribly long?) arms around him and just.

Fucking.

 _Yanks_ him back into the woods – the sound of trees being broken and torn apart is loud, but Token’s hysteric crying is louder. Nichole runs out onto the porch and hears him _screaming_ as he’s pulled deeper into the darkness. Terror floods her veins like ice, and she finds herself freezing to the spot – it’s like there’s a lag on her fight or flight instincts and her brain just _crashes_ as fear overrides logic.

Then she hears Token scream _her_ name and she knows instantly what she needs to do.

* * *

**1.15AM** ****

Tweek stands under the shower spray and feels his whole body reach a whole new state of serenity.

He has missed Craig like crazy – it just hasn’t been the same, living with Tuckers without his boyfriend around. Like, Thomas and Laura still treat him like a son, and Tricia constantly drags him into hanging out with her and her friends, but. But it’s not the same ‘cause Craig isn’t there.

The Community College of Aurora isn’t that far, but between his shifts at the coffeehouse, hanging out with Clyde and researching scholarships for Julliard, he really doesn’t have the time to actively visit his boyfriend. Seeing him in the flesh… it’s just wonderful. It’s almost worth all the months of pining and wistful longing – _almost_.

Tweek stretches out his back and purrs as the bones crack delightfully – he’s definitely missed having Craig in _other_ respects too… sleeping with his boyfriend does absolute wonders for his stress-levels.

Thank fucking god too, ‘cause it’s only been a few hours and he’s already reaching his limit. He just doesn’t understand why his friends can’t even pretend to be civil with each other, but he supposes not everyone can be quite the thespian he is.

Regardless, they’re practically _adults_ now and even then, they’ve all got more than enough experience when dealing with everyone’s collective bullshit.

Surely they can cope for… for… urgh, _two_ more days?

Oh, Jesus.

He sighs and reaches for the body wash – someone really was going to die, goddammit.

Thinking about it, Tweek kinda gets why Craig wants to hide away in an intimate cabin, but still… avoiding the issue won’t do anyone any favours. Craig, for all his endearing qualities, has one fatal flaw – an inability to communicate properly. Thankfully, his boyfriend (fiancé, fiancé, _fucking fiancé_ ) does acknowledge his shortcoming, but not-so-thankfully, he refuses to do anything about it.

Sucks to be him, but Craig really does need to do something about it.

Kenny isn’t going anywhere, and neither are the apparent _feelings_ between them.

Fuck.

They really should’ve sorted this shit out the moment everything kicked off, instead of letting it build up to… to this _mess_. Tweek purses his lips and, as he squirts out a glob of mango-scented body wash, he casts his mind back to when everything had just… fallen apart.

Five years ago, his parents had left him alone as they attended some coffee conference in Fort Collins – they figured he could man the coffeehouse solo, which would save them the worry of losing out on potential profits. They had left him with enough food and money for the week, sure… but they didn’t leave behind any _special coffee_ for him. Tweek doesn’t really understand why they had just _left_ him; well, maybe his _dad_ , he can get. But his mom? Tweek doesn’t think it will ever stop hurting, knowing that she had abandoned him too. He can’t remember much in the days leading up to Craig breaking into his house, besides clawing at his skin and screaming himself hoarse, besides the nightmares and the hallucinations…

Besides wanting to die, die, _die_.

He just remembers being in an ambulance, then the hospital, then rehab… then finally, being driven home by Laura. Except, it hadn’t been _his_ home, but _Craig’s_ – because _his_ home didn’t exist anymore. Tweek wasn’t sure what had happened exactly, just that his parents weren’t really allowed to come back to South Park. Their house had been sold and the coffeehouse ended up belonging to him… well, technically it _had_ belonged to Thomas and Laura until he became of age, as they were his new legal guardians – not his legal _parents_ , thank fuck, ‘cause where would that have left him and Craig?

Urgh.

Still, it was all a fucking blur and Tweek is kinda glad he doesn’t remember all of it.

He just remembers the _best_ bits – his first family dinner _without_ coffee. His first kickboxing lesson with Tricia. His first birthday spent sober and lucid. Even his first time with Craig, despite Thomas walking in on them halfway through…

It had all been wonderful. And normal.

And honestly? He had been on eggshells the whole time, ‘cause all dreams eventually ended, right? He had to wake up at some point, right?

Then one day… he did.

Because he can’t just have nice things.

Tweek Tweak doesn’t get to have and keep _nice_ things, not really.

It had all gone wrong on his sixteenth birthday; Craig’s parents had thrown him a small party and it had honestly been the best birthday ever – well, it _could’ve_ been the best birthday ever… except his dad had sent him a _present_. Whilst Thomas and Laura had bought him a new piano, and Craig had bought tickets to Hamilton, his dad… _fuck_. His dad had sent him some fucking _special_ _coffee_ inside an innocent gift bag. Tweek had tried to throw it out, he really had…

But.

But it had been so long since his parents had communicated with him. He. He had fucking missed them, he still does – so, so he talked himself into just _trying_ the coffee. It had been from his parents, _Jesus_. His parents, they _loved_ him, right? Like, the present must’ve meant they had missed him too, right? Oh god, how he couldn’t _sleep_ that night. The meth-laced coffee just… fucking _called_ out to him, and.

And.

Fucking _and_.

Well.

He had relapsed.

Tweek sighs as he remembers Thomas Tucker crying upon finding him in the bathroom, high as fuck and clawing his skin off. Laura, on the other hand, had quickly snapped into action and Tweek still can’t thank her enough for _not_ killing him, or throwing him out on the streets. Instead, she had sent him to rehab for the second time – she had also managed to calm Craig down when his boyfriend flew off the fucking handle and threatened to kill Tweek’s dad.

God, he had _never_ seen Craig that mad before – it had taken him a while for him to really understand that his boyfriend wasn’t actually angry at _him_ , but it was still… scary.

They never did get to go and watch Hamilton that year; which is why Tweek had bought new tickets for Craig’s Christmas present _this_ year.

They _are_ going to watch that damn musical, even if it kills him.

Tweek sighs tiredly as he rubs the body wash over his arms – his scars are slowly fading, but he still can’t help but feel ill at the sight of them. Most of them came from his withdrawals; his body had itched something awful whilst in rehab, it felt like bugs were burrowing underneath the skin and he had torn himself to shreds trying to get them out. Thomas had sobbed when he had first seen the wounds and couldn’t visit Tweek again – Laura told him not to take it personally, so he tried not to.

Thomas, despite his strong masculine presence, had always been prone to instantaneous crying upon seeing one of his babies getting hurt.

To be honest, Tweek had just been honoured to be included as one his ‘babies’.

Eventually, however, it had been just Craig (and sometimes Laura) who ended up seeing him on visitation days; Thomas found it too difficult and Tricia had kickboxing on Sundays. It was okay though, as Craig always came with letters from his parents, messages from their friends, and small gifts from his sister, so Tweek never felt abandoned by his new family.

Typically, the visits had been sweet and nice, filled with wistful longing and cherished stolen moments.

Then Craig had visited him alone one week, whilst Tweek was having a bad, bad, _bad_ day.

He can’t remember much of the visit, even to this day, but he _remembers_ making Craig cry. He _knows_ he had said some stuff that wasn’t necessarily true, but his intent that day had been to be as malicious, cruel and personal as he could. He had been hurting so much and his first instinct was to make everyone else feel just as low and rotten and…

Urgh.

It had sucked then, and it still sucks now, ‘cause nothing upsets him more than seeing Craig in tears – Tweek would move heaven and hell if it meant seeing Craig smile and he would literally _fuck anyone up_ who ruined his boyfriend’s happiness. He didn’t practice kickboxing for four years for no reason – well, okay. Tricia _had_ asked him to join her, but he could still reap the benefits for selfish reasons.

Still.

He couldn’t exactly kick his own ass, could he?

So, when Craig had left in tears, Tweek had spent the next week in complete anguish – he hadn’t been sure if Craig would come back to see him, and if he even did, what could he possibly do to make it up to him?

Then Craig _had_ visited him the week after, in tears again and unable to meet his eye. Laura had accompanied him, her arm tight around his shoulders despite a disapproving frown which had played heavily on her lips.

When it had become apparent that his visitors were not going to initiate the conversation, Tweek had taken it upon himself to try instead – he had just managed to utter Craig’s name, when his boyfriend then simply fell apart in Laura’s arms, his confession spilling from his lips quicker than Tweek could really comprehend. Laura had persuaded the attendant to extend the visiting hours, so Craig and Tweek could sort shit out.

By the end of it, Tweek finally understood what had happened.

After their disaster of a visit, Craig had moped around his room, feeling like the world’s worst boyfriend and snapping at anyone who came near him.

Except _Kenny_.

A couple of days after Craig had seen Tweek, Kenny had come over to the Tucker’s house – his original purpose was to pick up Karen after a playdate with Tricia; instead, he ended up spending the night, intent on cheering Craig up. Tweek still isn’t entirely sure how it had happened, but from what Craig had told him, one moment they were curled up like dumb cats on the bed, playing with Stripe VI, and the next moment they were… well.

 _Kissing_.

Which okay, the thought of Craig kissing Kenny _does_ churn Tweek’s stomach, but.

But.

Craig _had_ assured him that they stopped before it went any further – Kenny had slept on the floor, Craig stayed in his bed and since then, they’ve… well. They’ve just danced around the issue, never really confronting it. They’re just happy to _ignore_ the fact that they. Well. _Kissed_.

Which is really fucking dumb.

‘Cause whilst Craig forgave Tweek for his cruel words and whilst Tweek has forgiven Craig for kissing Kenny… Tweek _knows_ it still weighs on their minds.

The first time Kenny had seen him since the incident, the blond had done nothing but apologise profusely. He had apologised for kissing Craig, for trying to ‘steal’ him away from Tweek, for falling in love with him… it had been plain crazy. ‘Cause _wow_ , okay, the kiss was one thing, ‘cause Kenny was just caught up in trying to make Craig happy again, but…

Love.

Love?

_Love?!?!_

That was just. Something else.

He can’t really remember what he had said to Kenny at the time and even now, he still can’t really get his head around it. He’s even brought it up to his therapist, but even she was no help ‘cause it was all up to him to digest his own feelings and come to his own conclusion. _Fuck_ , it was hard though, ‘cause wow, someone else is in love with his boyfriend? And yeah, okay, Tweek kinda gets it, ‘cause once you get through the prickly exterior, it is ridiculously easy to fall in love with Craig, it just.

Blows.

His fucking mind, ‘cause holy shit, someone else is in love with _his_ boyfriend. And okay, Craig assures him on a daily-fucking-basis that Tweek is the _only_ person that he loves, and Tweek _trusts_ Craig, Craig is probably the only thing in the world he _isn’t_ paranoid about, but… Tweek isn’t blind, or stupid. He knows Craig _feels_ something for Kenny too. It doesn’t… _hurt_ , exactly. Tweek isn’t really sure how he feels about the whole issue really, and last year’s mess just… makes everything even more complicated, and.

Urgh.

Okay, maybe it isn’t _just_ Craig and Kenny who need to talk – Tweek really needs to talk to Kenny too. Which would be great, if Kenny hadn’t made it his personal mission to just _avoid_ Tweek all the time – well, okay so he hadn’t just avoided him at first, it had been an awkward level of civility, but then last year happened and it’s like Tweek has just ceased to exist in Kenny’s world. ‘Cause whilst Tweek was stuck in the basement, _something_ had happened between his boyfriend and Kenny. Something that made everyone furious at Cartman, whilst Butters ran away from the lodge in hysterics, which then left their little friendship group in ruins.

 _Almost_.

Because Tweek only has half the story. He doesn’t know everything, ‘cause everyone says that _Craig_ should be the one to tell him – except, he’s pretty sure that Craig isn’t telling him the whole truth. He had just bullshitted him with some story about Butters being rejected by Kenny, but there’s more to it, Tweek can fucking _smell_ it. It’s infuriating and whilst Tweek _would_ have pushed the issue, he had no choice but to just let it drop at the time.

‘Cause Craig had been busy stressing about college and money and grades… and Tweek hadn’t wanted to _add_ to all of his worries.

But now…

Now Tweek’s patience has run out. He’s tired of being left in the dark and he’s tired of being told half-truths.

Tweek turns the shower off and sighs, watches as the last dregs of water disappear down the drain.

He just wishes Craig would _talk_ to him about his feelings – or talk to _anyone_ , really. It’s why he just can’t really drop the whole issue of his boyfriend seeking therapy, ‘cause Craig needs it. He really does, and though Craig might think he doesn’t _qualify_ or some shit, Tweek knows that his boyfriend needs something to help him work through his feelings.

Like, come _on_. If it wasn’t for a group of Asian fangirls, Craig would probably still be stuck in a heterosexual _lie_ – which, _urgh_ , makes Tweek feel slightly ill, ‘cause fuck, he’d be stuck in that lie too.

Jesus.

Tweek shivers and steps out of the shower, grabbing his towel to quickly pat his body dry. The lodge is impossibly cold and he’s not looking forward to the three-second dash to his own room, but the thought of Craig spread out on their bed is enough to make him brave the chilly air.

He quickly wraps his hair up in a turban, then slips into his pyjamas. His heart melts as he strokes over the printed images of Sailor Neptune – he knows Craig hadn’t meant for the pyjamas to be a serious present, which is why Tweek adores them so much. His boyfriend doesn’t even have to try, yet he just gets him on every level possible.

He hums and snatches up his engagement ring, eyeing the pretty way it gleams in the light before he slips it onto his finger. They had picked them out together and once they actually tie the knot, Tweek wants to get them engraved – he’s not sure what he wants them to say, but he thinks Craig has an idea…

Tweek smiles softly at the glossy black metal before he snatches up his toiletries and opens the door. He shivers at the cold air that greets him and grits his teeth as he dashes back to his bedroom – it’s right next to the bathroom again, which… well, had upset Craig at first, but Tweek was nothing if not incredibly skilled at distracting his boyfriend from shit that distresses him.

He slips back into the bedroom and shivers at the chilly draft that’s somehow appeared. He frowns deeply, ‘cause Craig _hates_ being cold, what the fuck, and pulls his towel off his head. He turns to the bed, an admonishment on the tip of his tongue, ‘cause seriously, it’s cold, what the _fuck_ , and… and he just freezes at the sight that greets him.

He drops his towel.

His scream catches his throat.

There’s a hard lump in his throat and his body trembles violently.

The window is open, it’s fucking cold, the window is _open_ ; the room is a _mess_ – Craig is _missing_.

Above the bed, written in sloppy red paint, are the words: YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE TO THE CABIN

Craig is _missing_.

He wants to scream.

He wants to pull his hair.

He wants to hurt someone, something, _himself._

Control spirals away from him and suddenly he feels unbalanced and lost.

His fiancé is missing, his fiancé is missing, his _fiancé_ is _missing_ —

YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE TO THE CABIN.

—and _someone_ has _taken_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **BEBE AND HEIDI HAVE DISCOVERED SIGNS OF AN ACCIDENT ALONGSIDE A MEMORIAL  
>  **BEBE AND HEIDI HEARD SUSPICIOUS NOISES FROM THE WOODS****
> 
> ******CRAIG IS NOW MISSING  
>  **TWEEK'S MENTAL HEALTH HAS DECLINED**** ** **
> 
> ********~~**TOKEN HAS BEEN TAKEN BY A MYSTERIOUS ENTITY – WHAT SHOULD NICHOLE DO?** ~~ **  
>  **~~\- GO AFTER TOKEN BY HERSELF: YOU WILL HAVE MORE TIME TO SAVE HIM, BUT LESS HELP~~   
>  **~~\- GO BACK TO THE LODGE: YOU WILL HAVE LESS TIME TO SAVE HIM, BUT MORE HELP~~ ** ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> ****************YOUR CHOICE HAS BEEN MADE** ** ** ** ** ** ** **


	8. ACT ONE: Wendy I | Kenny I

**1.11AM**

“What took you so long?” Stan complains, snatching the painkillers from Kyle’s hand.

Wendy rolls her eyes as she watches Stan dry-swallows two pills – she shudders, feels herself gag and snatches the pill bottle back from him. She hates it when he takes shit without water, it makes her feel ill. Stan merely sticks his tongue out at her and sighs, closing his eyes as he settles against her side.

He’s being adorably clingy, and Wendy isn’t quite sure _why_ , but she’s kinda enjoying it.

She tosses the pill bottle back to Kyle, who catches it one-handed and slips it back into his back pocket. For some godforsaken reason, it’s oddly attractive to see him effortlessly snatch the bottle out of the air and she has to scold herself for being so easily won over.

“Sorry, got caught up talking to Butters,” Kyle explains, looking sheepish, “I apologised on your behalf, by the way. You’re welcome.” He shoots Stan a grin; he looks so impossibly handsome at that moment that Wendy literally feels her heart skip a beat in her chest.

Yeah, she knows it’s wrong to openly ogle her boyfriend’s best friend, but…

But Stan checks Kyle out too, so it’s not totally bad, right?

If anything, it has to make it better… right?

“I don’t remember thanking you,” Stan says, arching a brow as he massages his temples. He’s doing it wrong though, so Wendy bats his hands away and takes over. Her fingers are slenderer and nimbler than his, so she’s able to really pinpoint the source of his tension – she feels him melt against her as she works over the delicate muscles and her heart just swells with love.

“Oh, you thanked me,” Kyle responds dryly, “I can basically read your mind at this point.”

“Really?” Stan queries, before sitting up with a smirk, “can you read my mind _now_?”

Kyle squints at him for a moment, before he gasps and clutches at his chest. “Stan,” he admonishes softly, “how could you say such a thing about my mom?”

Stan snickers, the sound vibrating throughout Wendy’s body. “Like I have the balls to talk shit about your mom,” he says wryly, and though she can’t see his face, Wendy knows he has a wicked smile on his lips. She hums in amusement and presses a kiss to his thick black hair, inwardly purring as she takes in the soft scent of apples.

It’s been a while since he’s smelt of something other than stale weed and musk, so this new sweet scent sends shivers down her spine.

“You know it’s a sad day when a guy admits that he has smaller balls that Cartman,” Kyle muses, his tone a touch melancholic. His words are clearly provocative, and they have the desired effect on Stan, who chokes on a laugh and flips him off.

“Well, you’d know all about Cartman’s balls, right Kyle?” Stan shoots back, and only Wendy can hear the strain that lies underneath the jovial tone.

‘Cause fuck, if they lose out to fucking _Eric Cartman_ , then her pride may never fucking recover.

“Make another comment like that and it’s _your_ balls I’m coming for,” Kyle snaps back.

“Dude, isn’t that a bit forward?” Stan snorts, before nodding towards Wendy, “my partner’s in the room! At least wait until she leaves before throwing yourself at me.”

Wendy snickers when Kyle’s face flushes pink as he splutters wordlessly at Stan.

“That’s, dude, _no_ , what?” he utters, shaking his head, “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Well, now you’re just hurting my feelings,” Stan replies, pouting sadly. Which sucks, ‘cause Stan is the master of sad puppy-eyes, everyone fucking knows this, holy shit. The dude could bring a whole town to its knees with a single dramatic tear, like Cartman’s expressed a desire to weaponise Stan’s sadness, it’s that powerful. Even _Wendy_ feels guilty looking at him and she hasn’t even done anything!

“Holy shit dude, stop, you know I can’t handle that face,” Kyle says, covering his face with a hand as he closes his eyes.

Stan snorts and shares a look with Wendy; she shakes her head at him, despite the fond smile on her lips and nudges him pointedly. Stan rolls his eyes and sighs heavily.

“Killjoy,” he mutters sullenly.

“You’re going to give him heart palpitations,” she mutters back.

“Urgh, fine.”

Stan sits up and gazes at Kyle – his blue eyes are carefully neutral, but Wendy can see the longing that gleams within them. God, how could Kyle not see how much they want him?

“Alright dude,” Stan says, pursing his lips slightly, “chill out, it was only a joke. Remember your blood pressure, yeah?”

“Please stop talking about my goddamn blood pressure,” Kyle replies, his words muffled behind his hand.

“Whatever,” Stan replies, “truce?”

Kyle snorts. “Truce.” His hand drops from his face and he glances around the room with a bemused expression, “so, are you gonna come down and join the rest of us at some point, or are you just gonna live out your hermit fantasies this weekend?”

“We’ll come down—”

“I do enjoy being a hermit,” Stan sighs wistfully, interrupting Wendy without care.

“—Stan! We’re not hiding away up here,” she scolds him, smacking him on the arm softly.

Stan merely throws her pitiful look, pursing his lips and widening his eyes.

“But Wendy,” he moans, batting his lashes at her, “it’s a fucking train-wreck downstairs; don’t force me to interact with those assholes.”

Wendy snorts and shakes her head at him – honestly, it’s a good job he’s so fucking cute.

“I don’t blame you,” Kyle chips in, looking away with a bitter chuckle, “shit’s about to hit the fan, like, big time.”

“What do you mean?” Wendy asks, cocking her head.

Kyle worries his lip before his body deflates. “Okay, so… it’s not exactly a secret, ‘cause they were gonna tell everyone anyways, but,” he pauses and shoves his hands into his pockets, “Craig and Tweek are getting married.”

Stan blinks before a pained look crosses his face.

“Shit, poor Kenny,” he sighs sympathetically, before he glances hard at Wendy, “see, you really want to go down there when he finds _that_ out? Like, dude’s been in love with Craig for five fucking years, you really want a front-row seat to that shitshow?”

Wendy rolls her eyes. “Kenny is your _friend_ , you need to be there to support him! And I didn’t take you for a _gossip,_ Kyle,” she says pointedly, “besides, this isn’t exactly news to me – Craig Snapchatted me their rings after Tweek proposed to him.” Her friendship with Craig is kinda weird, in that they barely talk in person, but he’s one of her top contacts on most forms of social media. She doesn’t really question it though – he’s kinda cool, honestly.

“Craig _Snapchats_ you?” Stan demands, looking weirdly outraged, “like, he still _uses_ Snapchat? Wait. _You_ still use Snapchat?”

Wendy snorts and rolls her eyes again. “We’re _friends,_ asshole – he helped me out a lot when I came out. He’s like, some kinda LGBT Guru now; super helpful,” she explains, shooting Kyle a wry look when he sniggers softly.

“Oh,” Stan utters, his hackles clearly lowering upon her explanation, “well. Okay then.”

“Do you feel safer now?” Wendy asks, arching a brow, “now that you know that Craig isn’t trying to steal me away?”

Stan blinks and shrugs sheepishly. “Well, you _are_ hot as Wendyl,” he admits, averting his gaze, “wouldn’t blame him if he tried.”

“I think he has enough suitors on his plate,” Wendy snorts, despite pressing several kisses to Stan’s face; he had taken it extremely well when she came out as genderfluid, and hearing these little reminders of his support just makes her heart melt. Stan hums happily, soaking up her affection with delight. It’s only when she hears an awkward cough that Wendy remembers that Kyle is still in the room.

She glances over at him and is pleased to see a pink hue coating his cheeks.

It would have been cuter if it weren’t for the fact that his face has suddenly flickered with some unreadable, conflicted emotion. Concerned, Wendy sits up and rests her head against Stan’s, her eyes are laser-focused on Kyle’s handsome face.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks, arching a brow at him.

“Yeah, I just,” Kyle pauses, before folding his arms and averting his eyes, “there’s something else I need to tell you guys. I think we need to keep an eye on Butters – something’s wrong and I don’t think it has _anything_ to do with last year. Except, maybe it does? Maybe last year just made shit worse… oh god, and we just left him with Uncle Budd, that sick fuck, oh god.”

Stan sits up instantly, leaning towards Kyle with worry written across his features.

“Woah, dude,” he says, his words soothing and slow, “calm down. What the hell are you talking about? What’s wrong with Butters now?”

“Fuck,” Kyle utters, staring at Stan as he worries his lip, “it’s not Butters, it’s Uncle Budd. Something seriously fucked is going on here and we need to help him out!”

“Help… Uncle Budd out?” Stan asks, wrinkling his nose with distaste, “dude, I ain’t helping him with shit – the asshole gives me the creeps!”

“No,” Kyle stresses, shaking his head hard enough to make his curls bounce, “I’m talking about Butters! We need to help _him_ out, ‘cause I think. I think Uncle Budd is. I think he’s. Fuck me, man. I can’t even fucking say it!”

Wendy and Stan swap a look – Stan furrows his brows and stands, approaching Kyle slowly. It reminds Wendy of the time when her boyfriend had come across a cat who had been hit by a car. Her sweet Stan had carefully approached it and comforted it whilst it died… he’s so good with animals, she really doesn’t understand why he won’t consider veterinary school, he’d be fucking amazing, _god_.

“Breathe dude, breathe,” Stan instructs calmly, holding onto Kyle’s shoulders with gentle hands.

“I can’t, you didn’t see what I saw, Stan,” Kyle argues, his green eyes blazing with desperation, “it’s so fucking crazy and creepy and sick! God, the photo, the books… the _bed_! And the way Butters acted as well, it makes me want to throw up.”

Every hair on Wendy’s neck prickles – she’s unnerved by Kyle’s words, ‘cause it kinda sounds like.

It sorta _sounds_ as if.

Oh fuck.

Oh Christ, no.

“Kyle, are you saying that Butters has been—”

Wendy is cut off by the most hysterical scream imaginable – she freezes, alongside Kyle and Stan. The noise can only be described as heartbroken and it’s coming from a room which is pretty damn near to hers. There’s a beat of silence before she rushes towards the door, Kyle and Stan hot on her heels.

The scream is continuous, broken up by sobs and bitten-off curses – she hurries down the corridor and arrives at the bedroom that had been Craig and Tweek’s last year. Without a second thought, she bursts through the door; a curse falls from her lips, dark and loud at what she sees. Tweek is curled up on the floor, clutching at his hair as he rocks himself, tears streaming down his face. 

He’s the only one in the room though, which doesn’t bode well for, well, _anyone_.

“Holy shit, Tweek!” Stan gasps, pushing past Wendy to fall onto his knees beside the hysterical blond.

Wendy can’t really focus on him though, ‘cause she’s staring at the words painted over the bed.

YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE TO THE CABIN

Her heart drops like a rock to the bottom of her stomach – she staggers towards the bed and takes in the chaos around her. The bed covers are strewn across the floor like a tussle has taken place… but there’s no sign of a violent struggle. The sheets are soaked from the fallen bottle of water which lies next to them. Nothing is broken though – all the drawers are open and there’s clothes everywhere, mingling amongst snow that has blown in from the open window.

Wendy shivers, the urge to hug herself almost too great to resist.

Something in her gut is screaming at her to run, to hide, to get away from this fucking lodge… but she lingers. ‘Cause Wendy Testaburger isn’t a coward and her friends are in trouble. She turns and gazes down at Tweek; he’s curled up in Stan’s arms and his cries have reached peak hysteria.

She clenches her fists – _no one_ fucks with her friends, no matter whether she’s Wendy or Wendyl, someone is gonna _pay_.

“He’s gone!” Tweek cries, tears streaming down his face as he claws at his arms. Stan is trying in vain to hold onto Tweek’s wrists, but the blond is much stronger than anyone ever gives him credit for, “Craig! He’s, _nngh_ , gone!”

“What the fuck?” Kyle mutters distantly, dread dripping from his words, “who the fuck did _this_?”

Wendy glances at him, her eyes burning with hatred.

“I don’t know,” she says, the words coming out like shards of ice, “but when I find out, I’m going to _kill_ them.”

* * *

**1.09AM**

The front door of the slams loudly and the sound is enough to wake Kenny from his dream.

After Clyde had interrupted his conversation with Butters, Kenny’s mind had been left a mess. Butters had absconded from the kitchen before he could blink and he found himself alone with his thoughts. Whilst he had contemplated running after Butters to finally hash shit out, Kenny knew he’d probably only make it worse at that point…

With a blistering headache slowly growing, Kenny had retreated to the lounge and collapsed on the sofa. Exhaustion overcame him and soon, he had lost consciousness.

The dream that slowly formed in his mind had not been a pleasant one – just memories circling around his head, of kissing Craig, of making Butters cry, everyone pissed off and shouting… it had _sucked_.

So, Kenny isn’t _too_ pissed to have been jolted from his sleep.

He is, admittedly, a little miffed when he realises that he’s alone; like yeah, okay, he went to sleep alone, but that doesn’t mean he has to wake up alone, Christ. It’s a little early to be ostracised, right? Especially by this group of assholes.

Kenny sighs and presses his hands to his eyes – just thinking about his friends has his headache returning tenfold.

 _Fuck_ … why the hell did he come back up here?

Okay, so the easy answer would be that Cartman practically _begged_ him to come so the fat bastard wouldn’t get ganged up on, but honestly? The asshole would’ve deserved it. Kenny doesn’t think that his supposed best friend even understands how bad it’s gotten for Butters, for _anyone_ involved, really.

Shit.

Just remembering his conversation with the blond makes his skin crawl. Butters had been so fucking… weird. Like, distant and cold with him; which he understands given their history, but. It kinda hurts? And it’s even more frustrating, because Kenny still doesn’t get _why_ Butters loves him so much, like even with _Charlotte_ in the picture; he can admit that it _is_ flattering, ‘cause the blond is pretty cute and smart, but he also has this _edge_ about him. Like, Butters looks like he’d taste sweet, but Kenny knows he’s all _spice_ , but for real.

Butters could do _so much better_ than some poor, immortal fuck-wad.

Kenny clucks his tongue and drags his hands down his face, gazing up at the ceiling like he’s gonna find all the answers to his problems written on the wood.

Shit.

So why does he want Craig to love him back so much? Why does he _want_ the guy? It’s just… fucking _crazy_. Like, at first it had been a little crush, ‘cause the guy is hot and his laugh is dumb and he’s kinda sweet when he’s hanging out with Tricia and Karen – but he has _Tweek_. He’s always had Tweek, so what the fuck is Kenny even doing?

Why can’t he just fucking get over the guy?

Like, not even last year put a dent in his stupid fucking feelings.

And what sucks even more? Tweek isn’t even _mad_ at him, he’s just… so fucking _understanding_ and shit. The one guy who Kenny would’ve put money on for being crazy-possessive had actually been kinda chilled about it. It makes _no_ sense; Kenny would’ve torn a fucker’s head off if they tried to mess around with his loved ones, but Tweek? Tweek, with all his Buddhist teachings and therapy sessions and newfound health, just _forgave_ him. Told Kenny that he got it, that he doesn’t blame Kenny for getting caught up in trying to cheer up Craig – urgh, he just couldn’t take that level of… _niceness_. So, Kenny ran away – the big super-fucking-hero, ran away from the guy ‘cause he’s in love with his fucking boyfriend.

Tweek looked as if he had more to say at the time – he still does, truth be told. He gets this expression, this gleam in his gaze whenever he catches Kenny’s eye, but he never gets the chance to actually talk to him. Kenny’s been exercising some _serious_ ninja skills to avoid the blond; too bad they don’t work when it comes to Butters, Christ.

And the cherry on top of the shitty cupcake that is his life?

Butters goes and tells him that Craig’s getting _married_ to Tweek, which just fucks up his mind completely and. Well, Kenny can’t say he is _surprised_ , but his heart still… just fucking _hurts_ knowing that Craig has made his decision. And okay, his hurt feelings don’t excuse him snapping at Butters, ‘cause the dude is clearly hurting too, but.

But.

Fuck.

Everything just fucking sucks.

And it’s fucking freezing in the lodge too – fuck, did no one seriously think to keep the fire going?

Kenny rubs at his eyes tiredly and glances at the fireplace – well, that fucking figures. No goddamn logs left to burn, Jesus. Did no one even try to stock up beforehand? Goddammit.

He looks around and considers hollering for help, but figures there’d be no point. Chances are, everyone’s forgotten his existence again, the bastards. Which would have come in handy last year, actually, but no. That’s not how shit works for Kenny McCormick.

The blond heaves himself up from the sofa and staggers towards where he had thrown his jacket. He had long outgrown the orange parka, but Karen had bought him an orange suede jacket for his birthday. Kenny’s not entirely sure where she got the money from, but something about the fact that it had skulls embroidered on the back just screamed _Henrietta_.

He shrugs it on and feels instantly warmer, but knows that if he doesn’t get firewood soon, then someone (most likely Cartman) would just bitch endlessly at him for not pulling his weight.

Which, _ha_.

Is rich coming from that fat bastard.

Kenny fingers the BFF necklace under his shirt and wonders once again, why he has decided to stake his BFF flag on the hill that is _Cartman_ ; but then he supposes some mysteries aren’t supposed to be solved – god knows that he of all people should understand that shit.

Kenny sighs, glances behind him at the empty lounge and thinks _fuck it_.

He leaves the lodge and clenches his teeth as a flurry of snow swirls around him. Fuck, these assholes better appreciate this shit, ‘cause goddamn, he ain’t doing it again. At least it’s only a short trip to the shed, like it’s literally around the corner; what could possibly go wrong in a two-minute walk?

Well. A lot, actually.

Like a rogue bear coming along and fucking eating him again. God, that year had sucked. He had woken up in South Park _again_ and ended up missing out on Cartman and Kyle kissing for the first time. Luckily, Stan’s a true bro and had recorded it for him – still, it would’ve been quite the sight to see his best friends finally macking on each other in person.

Like, Jesus Christ, he digs a bit of sexual tension but that shit’s just fucking _ridiculous_.

Kenny finally makes his way to the shed and prays that he doesn’t get hit in the head by a wayward axe. Again. That year hadn’t sucked as much as the bear, but it had meant missing out on Bebe’s lesbian awakening upon seeing Wendy and Nichole make out.

Man, his friends are so fucking useless – just one little kiss and they all fall apart, goddammit, what is wrong with them? Well, okay, it’s not like _he_ can talk; one kiss from Craig and he had been ready to fucking propose. The guy can do some _freaky_ shit with his tongue, like holy fuck, why wouldn’t he want to wife him?

Except, Tweek got there first, so. Fuck.

Urgh, so maybe a little kiss can fuck anyone up.

Last year’s game of Truth or Dare kinda screwed _everyone_ up, so… whatever. He takes it back.

Sighing, he kicks open the shed door and hurries inside, away from the bitter wind. Sniffing, Kenny wrinkles his nose when he finds a distinct lack of logs around the shed, which is weird; Uncle Budd, for all his fucking flaws, always leaves them with a shit-load of wood to burn. God, they’re probably in the goddamn barn again, goddammit.

Kenny mutters a dark curse under his breath as he stalks around the corner – the shed and the barn are connected, so thankfully he doesn’t have to go outside again, but urgh. The barn stinks of shit and he’s died like, three times in there.

Just as he braces himself for a fourth death, Kenny finds himself hesitating when he takes in the sight before him.

Normally, the shed is lit up with an open door leading to the barn… except this time, the door is shut and the whole area is flooded in darkness. Kenny allows his eyes to adapt and as he steps closer to the barn door, he finds himself staring at something he’s never seen before.

It’s a lever, fixed in place below the barn’s window – normally, there’s nothing really interesting on the other side of the glass. Just a derelict barn with empty stalls and obscenely sharp tools – this time, however, Kenny can’t quite see into the barn, it’s just too dark for him to really see anything. Instead, he inspects the lever; it’s large, rusted, and looks like it can be pushed to the left or the right. Kenny narrows his eyes at it and reaches out to gingerly brush a finger against the top.

Instantly, the barn behind the window comes to life as all the lights turn on at once.

Kenny winces from the sudden brightness and squints through the glass. Horror has his heart frozen in his chest and his eyes quickly scan over the sight before him. Two of his friends are chained to a wall by their wrists – in front of them are two sets of tracks that merge together and at the very end is a sawblade. It looks like a cheap knock-off trap from a Saw movie, and Kenny wildly glances around for a tacky-ass puppet riding a bicycle. When nothing comes forward, the blond focuses his attention on the boys trapped behind the glass.

They’re both unconscious and for that, Kenny is slightly glad.

To the left is Craig, dressed in little more than his star-printed boxers and the marks left on him by Tweek. Kenny swallows hard as his eyes drift over Craig’s slender form and his stomach churns uncomfortably – he doesn’t _look_ hurt… there’s nothing that suggests he was knocked out, so maybe he’s been drugged? Fucking pussy-ass motherfucker – only a coward drugs their goddamn victims, Christ.

Kenny shudders and drags his gaze across to Butters, who hangs to the right. The blond is still dressed in his teal turtleneck and black jeans as before, but there’s a violent wound by his right temple. Anger flares in Kenny’s gut as he takes in the damage on Butters’ face – someone must have hit him hard and it sets off every protective instinct that rests within the blond.

Fuck.

How long had he slept?

He could’ve sworn that it hadn’t been _that_ long since he and Butters were in the kitchen…

Jesus, does _Tweek_ know that Craig’s here? Surely not, ‘cause Kenny has seen the blond’s reaction when Craig gets hurt… the shed is still standing so, fuck. Should he run and go get Tweek? Or someone, at least?

Fuck… he really doesn’t want to leave them alone though – fuck knows what will happen to them if he abandons them. God, who the fuck could’ve done this shit?

Who the fuck would hit Butters like that?!

Kenny curses loudly and thumps against the glass hard; he winces when pain blossoms in his fist and he cradles it to his chest. He swears and turns to glare at the door leading to the barn where Craig and Butters are trapped. It looks thick, but it’s only made outta wood, so he probably has a chance of breaking it down…

He’s about to test out its durability when something moves from the corner of his eyes.

He snaps his head around and sees Craig, writhing against the wall as his eyes slowly crack open. Kenny feels his breath catch in his throat as those dark eyes glance around the barn – he can see the confusion and the panic slowly build in those pretty blue eyes and he suddenly throws himself against the glass. He desperately wants to break through the window and reach the boy, but the glass doesn’t budge an inch.

“Craig!” he shouts instead, successfully getting the brunet’s attention.

“Kenny?” Craig asks hoarsely, wincing as he tests the chains around his wrists; he turns to see Butters, and his expression grows acutely horrified, “Butters? Dude, what the fuck?”

“Hey handsome,” Kenny replies, a touch hysteric; he’s on autopilot ‘cause he can’t quite comprehend what the fuck is going on right now, so his brain has kinda taken a backseat, relying on old tactics to remain calm, “how’s it hanging?”

Goddamn, he can be so dumb sometimes.

Craig blinks at him flatly and Kenny can _feel_ the judgment through the thick glass.

“It’s a good job you’re pretty, y’know that?” Craig says blandly, rolling his eyes as he gives up tugging on the chains. Kenny snorts and despite the rising panic, he can’t help but feel flattered nonetheless.

“You think I’m pretty,” he asks, batting his lashes playfully, cautiously reaching out to brush his hand against the lever before him. He doesn’t dare move it though, not until he’s certain of what it does. He glances up when he doesn’t receive an instant response and has to choke back a hysteric laugh at the utterly unimpressed glare that Craig shoots him.

“I’m chained to a fucking wall,” he cries out, indignant disbelief shining brightly in his eyes, “now really isn’t the time to flirt with me!”

“It’s always time to flirt with you; especially when you’re looking like that,” Kenny shoots back hysterically before he moves to the door separating them; he expertly ignores the host of insults that Craig unleashes at him – he’s heard worse, honestly, “hold on, let me see if I can get to you.” He grabs hold of the handle and tests it – locked, obviously. Instead, he uses his shoulder in an attempt to forcefully break through it, but it doesn’t budge. Kenny tries kicking it as a last resort, but again… the door doesn’t budge.

“Hey Mysterion,” Craig calls out dryly, “I don’t feel very rescued.”

“The door must be locked from the inside,” Kenny responds, drifting back to the window with an apologetic look on his face, “can you see anything from your end?”

“Yeah, a fucking _sawblade_ ,” Craig replies, his eyes widening with panic, “Jesus Christ, I’ll be soooo pissed if this is a knock-off Saw situation.”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Kenny calls back, gesturing to the scene in front of him with furrowed brows, “work with me baby – can you see anything that _isn’t_ sharp and pointy?”

Craig sighs and glances towards the door. “Okay, so the door is locked – there’s a latch across it,” he says, before rattling the chains pointedly, “not that I can do much about _that_.”

“Shit, okay,” Kenny mutters, turning around to see what else is in the shed, “I’m gonna try and break the glass, just wait there, I’m gonna get you out!”

“My hero,” Craig comments, which is fucking bullshit, ‘cause once upon a time, Mysterion really _had_ been Super Craig’s hero. Okay, maybe not, but they _definitely_ had some fun when they were Feldspar and the Princess, goddammit. Kenny doesn’t bother bringing that up though, ‘cause the longer he spends flirting with Craig, then the less time he has to save him and Butters.

He glances around and finds a spade, resting against the wall of the shed. He picks it up and tests the weight in his hands before he approaches the window. Kenny raises the spade high above his head and, with one short nod to Craig, brings it sharply down against the glass. It cracks, but it doesn’t break – which makes no fucking sense, ‘cause surely the glass would be more brittle considering the freezing cold weather.

“Shit,” Kenny mutters, tossing the spade down. There’s nothing else in the shed that could do more damage; it’s practically fucking barren, which is incredibly suspect considering it’s a shed for chopping wood. Like hello, where’s the fucking axe? The hacksaw? Anything?

“What kind of glass doesn’t shatter in winter?” Craig demands, glaring at the crack in the glass.

“I could try and break the walls down – they’re only made from wood,” Kenny suggests, and he’s about to take up the spade again to try, when Butters’ form shifts suddenly, “Butters? Hey Butters! You okay dude?”

Butters moans softly, before his eyes flutter open – the first thing he does is wince though, ‘cause that wound looks nasty, but Kenny guesses it feels worse. The next thing he does is scream when his current situation finally registers in his brain.

“Oh hamburgers!” he cries out, wildly rattling his chains as his eyes grow increasingly wet, “what’s going on fellas!”

“Calm down Butters,” Kenny calls out, his instincts to protect and save overriding everything else, “you’re okay, I’m here – I’m gonna help you, okay? Nothing bad is gonna happen to you whilst I’m here, okay?”

“I. I believe you Ken, but. Oh Jesus, Kenny, what’s _happening_?” Butters asks, before he finally glances over at Craig, “what… _Craig_? What are you doing here?”

“Just figured I’d hang out with you for a while,” Craig replies – his tone might be bland, but Kenny can hear the hint of distress that threads through his words.

Butters blinks.

Kenny winces as the beat of silence stretches between them.

“That ain’t funny Craig!” Butters suddenly admonishes, straining against his bonds to glower hotly at Craig, “my parents will ground me if they find out I messed around with Uncle Budd’s stuff! I ain’t supposed to leave the lodge unless it’s an emergency!”

“I don’t know, I think I’d consider _this_ an emergency,” Craig replies, yanking sharply on his chains.

“Guys, guys!” Kenny snaps out, his lilac eyes darkening to an intense violet as he scowls at them, “now is _not_ the time for a bitch-fest, just chill the fuck out so I can figure out how to free you bo—”

“ _Hello everyone_ ,” a voice, well-enunciated and deep, crackles throughout the shed, easily drowning out Kenny’s voice. The source comes from a tiny speaker, tucked in the corner of the shed, just above the door leading to Craig and Butters. Kenny jumps when he hears the staticky words and shoots the tiny box a vicious glare.

“Who the hell are you?” he demands, spitting the words out like venom; but the voice doesn’t seem to listen to him, “what the fuck is this shit?”

“ _And evening to you,_ _Kenneth_ ,” the voice crackles over the speakers; it rankles Kenny’s nerves ‘cause no one calls him Kenneth, except Cartman. Fucking no one, especially some psychotic asshole who gets off on this level of sadistic bullshit, “ _as you can see, I’ve left you a little gift._ _Last year must’ve been hard for you, Kenneth. But now I’m going to help you out… before you are two boys. Both are in love with you, but only one can rise up triumphant. Last year, you failed to make your choice and the repercussions were dire. Now, you’re being given another chance and this time, there is no middle ground._ ”

“Dude, what the fuck?” Craig asks flatly, twisting against the chain with an unimpressed expression, “he never made a fucking choice, ‘cause he didn’t have one.”

“Repercussions?” Kenny questions aloud, ‘cause what the fuck did that even mean?

“ _You have to make your choice Kenneth – a final choice._ ”

“Oh Jesus!” Butters cries, tears slowly rolling over his cheeks as he stares desperately at Kenny, “please get me outta here Ken!”

“ _You can only save one Kenneth – Craig, who has your heart, but is promised to another,_ ” Kenny inaudibly gulps as he stares at Craig. The brunet’s dark eyes are stark with fear and frustration; his engagement ring gleams brightly under the broken bulb that hangs above him, “ _or Butters, who is utterly devoted to you, despite the lack of reciprocation._ ” Butters flinches as Kenny meets his eye – the blond’s eyes are wide with panic, his lips quivering uncontrollably.

“ _You have one minute to decide_ ,” the voice decrees, the speakers crackling with every syllable, “ _fail to make a decision and they will both pay the price_.”

Kenny flinches as the two separate tracks rise up and merge together. The metal whines and shrieks horribly, the sound terribly loud in the small shed – the tracks slowly combine to form a single route towards Craig and Butters. Kenny swallows hard, his eyes wide with horror; if he can’t decide who to save, then the sawblade will definitely cut both of them in half. It’s high enough and Craig and Butters are close enough for it to happen and _fuck_.

Fuck.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_!

He can’t pick one – but he can’t let them both die instead. He stares at the lever in front of him – he guesses it will split the tracks again and lead the sawblade to the intended victim. _Kenny’s_ intended victim. ‘Cause he’s gotta choose who gets to live, ‘cause some psycho-bitch is, what? Punishing him? For fucking up last year? Christ, when Kenny finds out who the fuck is doing this, he’s gonna tear their goddamn throat out and, fuck Butters is _crying_ again, oh fucking shit.

Oh, goddammit.

“Hey, you fucking asshole,” Kenny spits up at the speakers, wildly glaring at the tiny box, “take me instead! You got some beef with me, then take it out on me! You asshole pussy – face me like a fucking man! Kill me instead, goddammit, this has nothing to do with them! You think you’re some kinda vigilante? Is this justice to you? You think this is gonna make everything better? Don’t make me laugh, you fucking bitch! They don’t deserve this!”

‘Cause they don’t, they really don’t, this is Kenny’s mistake, ‘cause he always wants what he can’t have and fuck, fuck, fuck. Life would be so much easier if he had just fallen in love with Butters instead. But he hadn’t. And now he’s stuck in this shitty situation instead.

“ _Your minute starts now, Kenneth_ —”

The sawblade begins to spin, the sharp edges glinting in the dull light. Butters sobs harder. Craig pales and looks like he’s about to throw up. Kenny can’t pick. He can’t fucking pick – how the fuck was he supposed to just fucking pick?

“Fucking shit, shit, shit, cocking fu-uck!”

“— _choose wisely_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KENNY, BUTTERS AND CRAIG ARE SEPARATE FROM THE GROUP**
> 
> ****~~IT’S TIME FOR KENNY TO MAKE HIS CHOICE – WHO IS HE GOING TO SAVE?~~   
>  **~~\- CRAIG~~   
>  **~~\- BUTTERS~~ ** ** ** **
> 
> **********YOUR CHOICE HAS BEEN MADE** ** ** ** **


	9. ACT ONE: Kenny II | Heidi I | Kyle V

**KENNY HAS MADE HIS CHOICE**

**1.28AM**

Kenny bites his lip – his body shakes with frustration as he tries to make a choice.

The voice disappears, leaving behind a harrowing silence which is only broken by the loud _whirring_ of the sawblade. Craig looks pale and nauseated as his gaze flicks quickly from the spinning machine to Kenny’s face – his eyes are dark and wet; his lower lip is trembling as a series of curses fall from his lips.

“Goddammit, fucking goddammit,” he mutters, his fists clenched loosely, “I just wanted to go home for the holidays and be with my parents and tease Tricia about her dumb crush and be with Tweek, but no – I got told I needed _closure_ and to not be a _pussy_ and now I’m here. Fuck this shit.”

Kenny flinches as his hand sways towards the lever.

He can’t kill Craig… can he?

But then.

He looks at Butters, who’s sobbing and straining against his chains – his eyes are shot red, his wrists beginning to bleed as the fragile skin breaks from being torn against the harsh metal. Kenny’s heart aches as he takes in the broken, despondent expression on the blond’s face. He gazes into Butters’ eyes – one bright blue, the other pale and scarred. Kenny’s eyes drift over the line that slices Butters’ eye and feels his heart grow heavy. How many times has he hurt Butters in the past?

He doesn’t… fucking _deserve_ this fate.

But.

Neither does Craig.

But.

But.

 _Shit_.

“Please!” Butters splutters out finally, tears streaming down his cheeks, “please – Kenny, I don’t want to die! Please don’t kill me!”

“Shit man,” Kenny sighs, clutching at his head as his eyes flick between Craig and Butters. He looks up at the tiny speaker, “dude, are you there? You can’t fucking do this! Come on asshole! You think you’re so tough – let me show you how _wrong_ you are!”

The speaker is silent – Kenny guesses he’s on his own then.

Fucking psycho asshole bitch.

“Kenny please, you can’t kill me!” Butters begs, breaking him free from his reverie.

“Well, he can’t exactly kill me either!” Craig calls out, throwing Butters a half-hearted glare. The blond doesn’t seem to acknowledge him though – he’s too busy eyeing Kenny despondently, tears soaking his pale cheeks.

“Kenny, please! Please, I can’t die! Don’t kill me, please!” he implores, the words falling from his lips until Butters is breathless, gasping and choking on his own broken prayers for survival.

“Dude, dude, Kenny look at me,” Craig orders, and Kenny dutifully complies without really thinking about it, ‘cause. Fuck, he needs someone to tell him what to do right now, he needs direction, he needs someone to be there, ‘cause he doesn’t know what to fucking do, “you can’t kill me, okay? Fuck everything else that’s happened between us, just. Just. _Fuck_ , just think about Tweek man, you can’t do this to him! He needs me, fuck!”

Kenny blanches at the thought of their friends’ reactions – fuck, Tweek will lose his _shit_. Whoever is behind this, they better pray they don’t encounter the guy, ‘cause _goddamn_. Kenny knows he can be terrifying, but Tweek is another fucking level.

Cartman had sworn up and down that the dude knows his way around a bazooka, which _fuck_.

“Oh god, please Kenny, please I’m begging you!”

“Kenny, come on!”

Jesus Christ.

They’re _loud_ but the sawblade is _louder_ and, shit, fucking _shit,_ his time is running out.

Kenny feels burning vomit bubble up from his stomach, racing towards his throat. He chokes as his eyes flit between Craig and Butters. Jesus Christ, how could he even pick, ‘cause. ‘Cause. ‘Cause Craig, man. He fucking _loves_ Craig – _has_ loved Craig for _years_. He remembers the first time he saw the guy and thought _damn_ , _I could marry this dude_. He had picked Karen up from a playdate with Tricia and had walked in on them giving Craig a makeover; he had been surprisingly patient and sweet with them as they painted his nails and face… he also looked kinda good too.

And then he had cracked some shitty joke, which had Karen breaking out in hysterical laughter, tears streaming from her eyes as she giggled madly. Everyone knows that the way to Kenny’s heart is through Karen, so it kinda made sense that he began falling for Craig at that exact moment… and he had only fallen deeper ever since. They had grown close, developing a friendship built on teasing each other and geeking out on lame comic-book adaptations – then they had kissed.

Fuck, that kiss still haunts his dreams and.

And then everything went to shit.

They just didn’t _talk_ about it, they just tried to continue like everything was _normal_ , but it wasn’t. ‘Cause whenever Craig had teased him, or flirted back, or so much as _looked_ at him, Kenny found himself second-guessing every interaction they had, analysing every little word the dude said to him, desperately searching for a deeper meaning…

But.

But there was no _deeper_ meaning.

‘Cause Craig is with Tweek. Is engaged to Tweek. Is gonna get married to Tweek and live out the happy American Dream.

With _Tweek_.

Kenny feels his heart shatter again, ‘cause shit. Optimistic thinking really is for suckers, huh?

Craig continues to beg Kenny to save him, pleading him to think about Tweek and Clyde, Token, Jimmy, all their friends, his parents… even Tricia and Karen. It’s alarming how many people would be affected by his passing, but it also serves as a sharp, yet sad, contrast to Butters. ‘Cause Butters is just asking for himself, ‘cause he doesn’t.

 _Really_.

Have anyone else.

The remnants of Kenny’s heart shrivel up and just about _die_. Butters isn’t even asking Kenny to think about his family, or Charlotte, or any of their friends… and it isn’t ‘cause he’s selfish and uncaring of how they would feel. It’s ‘cause he doesn’t think they would _care_. And fuck, they would, they really would. And Cartman would, Stan would, Kyle and Jimmy would. And. Kenny too – Kenny would fucking _care_ , ‘cause Butters is honest and sweet, but feisty and funny. Butters has so much to offer the world, but.

But the world is a cold fucking bitch – Kenny knows this better than anyone.

The world doesn’t care that Butters is clever enough to build a business empire. The world doesn’t care that the dude can dance and sing. The world doesn’t give a shit that Butters can be a fucking asshole, but can also be the kindest, most selfless person Kenny has ever encountered.

Kenny… Kenny can give a shit though.

 _Does_ give a shit, honestly.

Butters deserves that, at least.

He worries at his lip and sighs, before flinching when the sawblade shrieks loudly – it then begins to move, oh fuck, it’s fucking _moving_.

There’s a tiny beat of silence, before—

“Oh, god!”

“Kenny!”

Kenny balks when Craig and Butters start to scream in tandem. He throws himself against the window and slams a fist against it, a growl of frustration ripples from his throat. Fuck. This really isn’t a fucking game – there is no Mysterion saving the day here, or the Princess using the power of Japanese Anime to outsmart her enemies.

This is.

This is just plain, old Kenny McCormick.

Sentencing one of his friends to death, ‘cause some fucking prick. Some _fucking, asshole, psychotic, goddamn prick_ has taken it upon himself to. To what? To get _vengeance_ from last year? To deliver _justice_ on their behalf?

Fuck that! There’s no fucking justice to be found here…

He looks at Craig – gorgeous and funny, wearing nothing but his underwear and a frantic expression.

He looks at Butters – feisty and clever, desperately pleading with him, despite looking oddly defeated and broken.

Jesus Christ, he’s.

He’s _fucked_.

But.

But, fucking _but_.

But he thinks he’s made a choice.

Goddammit, he’s actually made a fucking choice, what a sick goddamn asshole he is. He’s actually managed to make a fucking choice, what the fuck is wrong with him? Kenny feels a whimper float up to his throat and he scrunches his eyes closed – he can’t believe it.

He can’t fucking believe that he’s actually come to a fucking decision, god, he feels _sick_.

Christ, he has half a mind to fucking kill himself after this shitshow has finished – just for some peace and fucking quiet. God. Maybe he can hit up Damien in hell, ‘cause he sure as shit can kiss that shiny throne in heaven goodbye. Jesus might be forgiving but even that dude has his limits and. And goddamn, how was he supposed to go home after this? How was he supposed to look Karen and Kevin in the eye, or even his mom or dad after all this?

Fuck.

Fuck, there’s something seriously wrong with him, ‘cause who the fuck just… comes to an actual decision?

Who the fuck can actually decide which friend has to die?

Well.

Kenny McCormick, apparently.

God – he is the fucking _worst_.

“I’m… I’m sorry Craig,” he calls out brokenly, pressing a hand against the window, his fingertips brushing against Craig’s form through the glass, “fuck, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Craig blinks, his face paling as recognition settles in his eyes – his expression flickers with rage for a moment, before it goes carefully blank.

“You fucking asshole,” he spits out, and though his face is neutral, his tone drips with distress and betrayal, “I can’t fucking believe you – you’re really going to kill me?”

“Babe, I—”

“Don’t call me that!” Craig interjects, his tone a touch shrill, “don’t ever, god. Is this… is this because I love Tweek, is that it?”

“This has nothing to do with that! I just… I _can’t_ just kill Butters… it’s not fair,” Kenny says, feeling his eyes sting with unshed tears. Seeing Craig like this just wrecks him, but he can’t. He can’t take it back. He’s said it out loud now and Butters… Butters just looks so _thankful_.

Kenny can’t take that from him, not now.

“Fair, you wanna talk about fair?” Craig asks, thrashing against his chains deliberately.

“Oh god, thank you Kenny,” Butters chants, a soft smile on his lips as his eyes sparkle with gratitude.

“I’m sorry dude,” Kenny says lamely, ‘cause he doesn’t know what else to fucking say.

“You’re really gonna do this to me? Really? You’re gonna kill me?” Craig continues, the questions coming out of his mouth like bullets, piercing and rapid and _cold_.

“I said I’m sorry!” Kenny repeats, his tone desperate and pleading.

“Save your apologies for Tweek, asshole!”

Kenny recoils, bites at his lip, ‘cause fuck. He’s gonna need more than a few fucking apologies for his confrontation with Tweek. Shit, they really won’t be able to hide this shit from the blond – not again, not this time – and Kenny.

Kenny really doesn’t want to either.

He stares at Craig and tries to convey a thousand apologies with his eyes – a tear wells up and falls, staining his cheek as it streaks down his face. Craig’s chest heaves and falls rapidly; his cold gaze collapses as the rain of his own tears stain his cheeks.

“Oh god, you’re really gonna do this, aren’t you?” he asks, broken resignation shining through his strained words, “Kenny…”

The blond’s breath stutters as he reaches out – he doesn’t avert his gaze though; Craig deserves better than to be killed by a coward. Kenny stares deeply into those dark blue eyes, wants to memorise every glimmering shade lingering in that cold gaze, and grabs the lever’s handle firmly. For a second, he hesitates and chances a glance at Butters; the blond’s eyes are bright and though he’s still sobbing, his lips are tugged up in a grateful smile. His scar is stark against his pale skin, stark against the pale blue colour of his eyes and Kenny just knows.

He knows that he’s about to make the right choice.

He.

He _thinks_.

Kenny glances at Craig, flexes his fingers and yanks hard on the lever, redirecting the track away from Butters. Craig finally breaks and sobs, his head hanging limply from his shoulders as his body violently trembles. A litany of gratitude falls from Butters’ lips and Kenny focuses on the words, absorbs them, and holds onto them as he sends the boy he loves to his death—

“Kenny, oh Kenny, I— oh, _god_ , I thought you wanted to save me!”

“What the fuck – no, fuck! Butters no!”

—or so he thought.

Instead of veering towards Craig, the sawblade advances upon Butters, and Kenny feels his heart _stop_. The track hadn’t moved away from Butters, but _towards_ him. He grabs the lever and tries to move it, but it’s too late – the machine has locked up and the lever won’t budge an inch. Kenny slams his hands upon the glass, cursing loudly as Butters thrashes against his restraints.

“Fuck, god! I didn’t pick this!” he cries out, staring up at the silent speaker, “I didn’t fucking pick this!”

Craig chokes as he watches the sawblade deviate away from him, his eyes wide as he watches Butters scream and sob. Butters’ words are drowned out by his cries and Kenny can barely tear his eyes away – it’s. It’s morbidly hypnotic and he can’t just look away. A plethora of curses and insults spills from his lips as Kenny glares up at the speaker.

“You fucking asshole! I didn’t pick him!” he barks, before he falters, his own words slapping him in the face, “goddammit, I didn’t. I didn’t pick him. Is that your point? Huh? That I didn’t pick him last time? Well, fuck you, asshole. Fuck you!”

“Holy shit, Butters,” Craig croaks, flinching when the sawblade draws closer. He blanches and turns away and Kenny is kinda glad he has. He doesn’t want Craig to watch, he doesn’t want Craig to have a front-row seat to Butters’ death, “I’m sorry Butters – seriously, I’m so goddamn sorry!”

“Kenny, Kenny help me!” Butters begs, his voice breaking into a screech as he tears his gaze from Kenny to the sawblade, “Kenny, please! I’ll do _anything_ Kenny, I—”

Kenny recoils when Butters is cut off by his own terrifying, blood-curdling scream.

The sawblade closes in, brushing against Butters’ clothes and then.

And then it.

It just.

It just fucking.

Oh _god_.

And then it sinks in _deep_.

“Fu-uck!” Craig cries out as he’s splattered with Butters’ blood – it sprays against his side, coating his body and face. Kenny’s lips fall open in a silent cry, his fingers clawing desperately at the glass as Butters screams and screams and _screams_.

The sawblade is unforgiving as it continues to spin, cutting further into Butters’ body. Kenny feels frozen, helpless, _useless_. He tries to keep his gaze on Butters’ blue eyes… but they flutter close as his cries die out into a long, high-pitched whine of agony. Butters’ lips desperately try to form words, but he’s lost too much blood that they simply twitch in pain. Kenny knows he’s still begging for help though, that he’s still expecting some fucking miracle, like Kenny can just burst in and save him at the last minute, but no. Mysterion was just a game, and this.

This is not.

There is no Mysterion, just Kenny.

And Kenny is fucking _worthless._

He just watches as Butters’ insides fall out in thick pieces – intestines, his stomach, liver… muscle is torn to shreds as the blades break the spine and clang noisily against the metal wall. The blood is dark and thick as it gushes down to the floor, spraying the ground with an unforgiving splatter. Butters’ eyes slowly shut, his mouth is still agape as his skin turns pale, pale, pale white. See-through white. Deathly white.

Craig dry-heaves from where he hangs, his body shaking as he chokes and gags. His entire left side is splattered in Butters’ blood and his eyes are clenched shut – Kenny just. Stands there. Pressed against the glass with his lilac eyes scanning Butters’ form… but the blond is still. His body hangs limply from his wrists, his body torn open with his organs hanging out. The sawblade ceases it’s spinning and stops, embedded and stuck within— within— oh, _god_.

Then all is quiet.

All is still.

Kenny’s too scared to speak, to breathe loudly, to make a sudden movement.

Craig gags one last time – with little, hesitant movements, he turns back to the glass and peeks up to Kenny. He opens his mouth, but his eyes stray towards Butters and the carnage that lies right next to him. Instead of words, he suddenly heaves and throws his head to the side, vomits on the floor, and chokes out several dark curses.

Kenny whines and presses his forehead to the glass – he thinks he’s in shock, ‘cause. ‘Cause he doesn’t really feel… all there. Like, he’s floating, or high, or having some kinda out-of-body experience. He feels like he’s gonna throw up, but it’s not his vomit that burns its way up to his throat… he wants to cry, but it doesn’t feel like his eyes are stinging with tears. He feels.

Numb.

Numb?

Yeah. Numb.

He swallows down the burning fire in his gullet though, ‘cause. ‘Cause Butters is gone, but Craig is still there, and—

“ _You have made your choice_ ,” the speakers suddenly crackle again, the deep voice ruthlessly breaking the delicate atmosphere, “ _now live with it_.”

And then the shed goes silent.

Kenny feels… alone.

Like, whoever the sick bastard is that’s behind this has fucked off – he’s had his fun, but the game is over, time to see what’s on Netflix or whatever. Christ.

His fingers curl up into loose fists against the glass and he peers up at Craig again. The brunet has stopped hurling his guts up and instead, he’s curled in on himself – he looks frightened, confused, _angry_. Kenny needs to get him outta there… or get someone to help him out here, ‘cause. ‘Cause he needs help and—

And suddenly there’s a sharp _clang_ , and the chains holding Craig hostage have suddenly opened. The brunet gets no warning as he collapses to the floor, his knees hitting the ground harshly. Kenny winces at the abrupt sound of bone smacking against cold concrete – his heart aches as Craig whimpers, wraps his arms around his body and tries to collect himself.

He can literally see Craig trying to repress the recent events, even whilst covered in Butters’ blood, with the blond’s dead body hanging just next to him. Kenny feels a flicker of pity that Craig thinks he has to hide these kinda feelings, the feelings that _hurt_ – but the pity is brief and swiftly overcome by the swell of admiration as Craig takes one deep breath and rises.

He looks determined.

He looks defiant.

But _fuck_ … he looks.

He looks…

“Goddammit,” Craig spits, gathering himself up as he slowly staggers to his feet. He’s careful to avoid stepping in Butters’ blood as he stumbles to the door, his movements cautious and deliberate. Kenny hears him fall into it, hears the metal latch slide open and suddenly, Craig is there. Craig is right fucking there, beautiful, breathing Craig, who.

Who Kenny had tried to kill.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

“Craig—”

“You,” Craig interrupts, and his eyes have gone dark and empty… like a starless sky at night, like the void in Kenny’s nightmares, “you stay the _fuck_ away from me.”

“I’m sorr—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Craig hisses out, as he resolutely avoids looking at Kenny. Instead, he clutches at the wall and drags himself towards the exit. He still looks kinda dazed, like he really has been drugged… and Kenny doesn’t like the idea of Craig in that state, exposed and traumatised, stumbling about in the snow.

“Take my jacket, seriously,” Kenny says, and he goes to shrug off his jacket, but Craig’s icy glare as him pausing.

“Fuck off,” Craig replies eloquently.

“Dude, if you go out there dressed like that, you’ll freeze to—” Kenny’s jaw clicks shut as he quickly silences himself. Craig tosses him a snide look.

“What, I’ll freeze to death?” he asks, before throwing a hand towards the barn, “you didn’t seem all that worried about me living five minutes ago!”

Kenny swallows and holds up his hands quickly.

“Look, I just couldn’t _kill_ him – and I didn’t want to kill you either,” he quickly adds when Craig’s glare turns venomous, “I just. I didn’t want to hurt him again. Last year, I fucked up and he almost died because of it—”

“And this year, you fucked up,” Craig interjects, his dark blue eyes flashing hotly, “and he _did_ die because of it.”

A flare of anger streaks across Kenny’s mind as he watches Craig stalk across the shed. He clenches his fists and narrows his eyes – distantly, he knows why the brunet is being hostile, but goddammit, _he didn’t want this_!

“Goddammit Craig,” he urges, a hint of impatience threading throughout his words, “I’m sorry, I really am! I don’t know how I can make this up to you, but I will! But man, you have to know… it wasn’t an easy fucking decision! I mean, what would you have done in my place?”

Craig pauses, his hand resting against the shed’s wooden door – his face filters through several emotions before it settles on something cold and furious. Kenny feels sick at the sight of Craig’s naked anger – for a guy that detests emoting, he sure is fucking good at it, and. And. And Kenny tried to kill him. He’s _this_ angry, ‘cause Kenny was gonna let him _die_.

And not just die, but like. Get sawn in _half_ – it would not have been a quick death, Kenny knows this shit, it would have been painful and slow and _fuck_ , he’s suddenly swarmed by the phantom echoes of Butters’ screams, oh _god_. Vomit burns in his throat and blossoms on his tongue, heavy and acrid.

Oh, fuck – his heart feels wrecked, and his body is heavy with exhaustion as the weight of his decision hits him. Oh god, he’s killed Butters. He.

Butters is.

He’s fucking killed.

Oh.

 _Fuck_.

“Don’t you _dare_ turn this on me, don’t you _dare_ ,” Craig bites out, before he disappears out into the snow. Kenny sways on the spot under the gravity of the brunet’s venomous response and swallows down his sobs.

Shit, they have to go back and tell the others and. Oh god, how are they gonna react? Will they see him as a fucking murderer? He feels like a murderer… fuck. Fuck, he _is_ a murderer, goddammit. His friends will call the police, he can kiss his college dreams goodbye and. And he’ll never get to see Karen again, Kevin will be so fucking disappointed in him, his mom and dad too. And Butters’ parents… and Uncle Budd… Jesus, fucking _Cartman_ , they’ll all fucking _destroy_ him.

Except. Not even that will bring him relief, ‘cause he’ll just come back to life again.

And again.

And again.

Not Butters though.

Butters doesn’t get to. Just fucking return to life.

Jesus Christ, the thought of _Butters_ in hell though – god, Kenny has half a mind to blow his fucking brains out just to make sure Damien’s being nice to him if. If he ended up down there. He could’ve gone to heaven – their rules _have_ become laxer as of late…

Maybe. Maybe Butters is just chilling in the clouds?

Christ… maybe. Maybe he should kill himself anyways, just to. To apologise, right?

Except. Except that’s just Butters. Everyone else… oh shit, he can’t. He can’t do _dick_ about their reactions. _Tweek_ and _Clyde_ will fucking _maim_ him, and something tells him that his immortality won’t exactly rebuild the bridges he’s just fucking burned. Cartman will _thrive_ in getting to decimate him over and over and. Jesus Christ… he’s fucked up. He’s fucked up on unimaginable levels and no amount of explaining or apologising is gonna fix shit, oh god, what has he _done_.

Kenny bites back a whimper and goes to follow Craig – he hesitates though, looks back at Butters’ body and feels sick. The blond’s face is frozen with fear and… and… and he didn’t deserve that death. Fuck, Kenny will never stop being sorry for what he’s done. He’s just killed his friend, a boy who _loved_ him and how did Kenny repay that?

 _He fucking killed him_.

Swallowing hard, Kenny takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and hurries after Craig. He might not have chosen to save him before, but Kenny wasn’t about to abandon him now. He’s already gotten one friend killed… he’s not gonna let another suffer the same fate.

* * *

**1.35AM**

Heidi wanders down the path, glad to see Bebe in higher spirits.

They had managed to recover her bag of toiletries without running into another creepy encounter – Bebe had changed in the cable cart’s toilet and then popped a painkiller. Now, she’s in a much better mood as they head back towards the lodge. Her fingers are still loosely linked with Heidi’s, despite the lack of mysterious noises frightening her, and she happily swings her little bag, whilst absently humming under her breath.

She seems pretty distracted, so Heidi takes the chance to… really take the girl in. They’ve been friends since they were like, nine? And Bebe’s always been one of the few constants in her life – bar that one, very tragic moment where Heidi kinda… lost her way in life due to. Well. The influences of certain people better left _unmentioned_. And yeah, it had stung at the time, but eventually, Bebe won her back over. Bebe is very good at that.

Winning people over.

Heidi just isn’t sure if she’s been _won over_ , or… well. _Seduced_. ‘Cause lately, she’s been looking at Bebe in a different kind of way. All of her girls are stunning young women – well, _people_ , in Wendy’s case – but there’s something about Bebe that’s.

Special.

It’s like she woke up one day and realised, _wow_ , Bebe’s hair is really pretty in the sunlight. Bebe laughs like a Disney princess. Bebe’s legs look amazing when she’s wearing her ankle boots. Bebe’s lips are perfectly curved. Bebe’s eyes are amazingly pretty. Bebe is really smart and funny. Like, people underestimate her, but she’s so emotionally intelligent. And her humour is dry, cutting and so subtle that it goes over most people’s heads.

Bebe is strong, opinionated and so unafraid to speak her mind.

And, okay, so Heid could probably say all that about _any_ of her friends, but then. Then she had realised that she did _not_ like it when Clyde came over to their sleepovers. ‘Cause then Bebe would spend all night with _him_ , laughing with _him_ , gossiping and exchanging inside jokes with _him_. She would paint _his_ nails and do _his_ make-up and. And it just grated Heidi’s nerves something fierce.

‘Cause Bebe does all that stuff with Wendy. And Heidi doesn’t care.

Bebe does it with Nichole and Red and Lola and Annie.

Heidi doesn’t care.

The moment Clyde steps into the picture and it’s like. It’s like Mr Hyde takes over her body, inwardly threatening to rip his throat out and crush his skull. It’s _scary_ and Heidi just didn’t get it. At first, she thought it was just ‘cause he was a boy. And, okay, she’s still incredibly wary around boys, but. She’s fine around Kyle. And Craig and Tweek. Most of their friends, really.

There was just something about _Clyde_ which rankled her.

It got even worse when all their friends went off to college, leaving her behind with _Bebe_ , who had deferred a year like her, and _Clyde_. Who can give Bebe all the shoes her heart desires, and suddenly? Suddenly, it was like Clyde was around _all the time_. And yeah okay, Tweek joined them sometimes, but _Clyde was always fucking there_.

And Heid just couldn’t understand why it was so damn hard to _breathe_ or even _think_ around him.

And then.

And then Kenny had to go and sit next to her, throwing an arm around her as she watched Bebe and Clyde dance to some dumb song. He had tucked her into his arms, told her some lame jokes and… and then he said something to her. Something _weird_ and _odd_ and…

 _Your eyes are prettier when they aren’t green with envy_ , he had said.

Which totally blindsided her.

Left her completely speechless and unable to even deny his claim.

Then Kenny had told her to get some _alone time_ with the blonde – he had probably meant something dumb, like 7 Minutes in Heaven, but… but helping Bebe fetch her bag totally counts, right?

‘Cause Heidi thinks she’s worked it out now – ‘cause the moment Bebe came out to her, it was like a weight had lifted from her shoulders and she could _breathe_ properly for the first time in _weeks_.

Bebe likes _girls_.

Bebe doesn’t like _Clyde_.

And now, Heidi just feels like everything has fallen into place, but also… like everything she’s ever known has just shattered. ‘Cause she’s never even considered _being_ with a girl before, like sure, kissing girls is much _nicer_ than kissing boys, but Bebe… damn, just being around Bebe _feels_ different. Like, her gender just doesn’t even matter, what’s in her pants _doesn’t even matter_ , ‘cause she makes Heidi feel.

Safe.

Warm.

At home?

She’s not sure what she feels… but it’s _amazing_. Like she’s on the cusp of something new, like, like she’s on the edge of a cliff and at the bottom is the world’s most magical bowl of pudding. Which… in hindsight, is a really weird analogy to make, but that’s how Bebe makes her feel. Bebe is her magical bowl of pudding and _wow_ , she can’t wait to fall—

“Oh my god!”

Heidi is abruptly brought out of her reverie when Bebe suddenly screams – her head snaps around and she’s instantly horrified. Kenny and Craig stumble into their path and honestly? They kinda look like they just survived a B-rated slasher flick – Kenny looks _ill_ , his eyes haunted, his lips firmly upturned as his fists shake by his side.

Craig, though.

Craig is smothered in dark red… _blood_? He’s naked, shivering, _not even wearing boots_ and he’s covered in—

“Honey, is that blood?” Bebe gasps, dashing forward with outstretched arms. Craig instantly shies away; he looks like prey, cowering from a predator who’s moments away from tearing his throat out. His eyes are wide and there’s something _wild_ and _furious_ glinting in them – Heidi has half a mind to pull Bebe back, keep her shielded and protected from what could be a messy situation.

But. It’s only Craig.

And Craig wouldn’t _hurt_ Bebe… right?

“A-Are you okay Craig?” Bebe tries again, pausing and keeping a healthy distance between herself and Craig. He looks less… cornered when the blonde steps back, but he still looks.

_Furious._

“What does it look like?” he responds, his voice even thicker as he shivers from the cold and whatever else is going on inside his head, “fuck, Jesus _fuck_!”

“Here, take my jacket—”

“Don’t touch me,” Craig spits out, recoiling when Bebe goes to shrug her jacket off.

“But,” Bebe says, halfway through shrugging her jacket off, “you’ll freeze to deat—”

“Don’t,” Craig cuts her off and Bebe falls silent immediately, her arms falling awkwardly to her sides.

The silence is awkward, and Heidi can’t _stand_ it.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping up whilst keeping an eye on Kenny – the blond jolts and it’s like he’s just realised that they’re there, “what happened to you?”

“Listen,” Kenny ignores her question, his voice shaky as his body vibrates with nervous energy, “you girls gotta be careful – there’s… there’s a fucking _psycho_ running around—”

“A _what_?” Bebe yelps, her eyes wide with shock.

“—and he. Oh, god. He. He fucking. Shit, he—”

“He did what, Kenny? What did he do?” Heidi asks, sharing a twin-look of horror with Bebe.

“Butters is dead,” Kenny finally spits out and Craig flinches violently, turning his head away as he gags and chokes on a whimper. Bebe jolts towards him, but carefully maintains her distance and—

Wait.

What?

“Dead?” Bebe repeats weakly, blinking rapidly as she furrows her brows.

“Are you… are you being serious?” Heidi says, forcing herself to laugh weakly, but. But Kenny doesn’t laugh. Craig doesn’t laugh.

No one fucking laughs.

“—and I don’t know if anyone else is on his fucking hitlist and—” Kenny continues and he’s falling apart, which scares Heidi ‘cause, ‘cause Kenny _never_ falls apart, he’s like a creature of marble. Incredibly put together and maintained, never letting anything crack or crumble in his façade.

But now he’s falling apart, ‘cause—

“Butters is dead?” Bebe asks, holding up a hand and shaking her head, ‘cause Kenny is still talking, and _he won’t stop talking_ , “honey, slow down! What do you mean, Butters is dead?”

“—that’s what I _said_!” Kenny states, his tone bordering on shrill, “there’s someone, a real psycho bitch, on this mountain and he’s. He. Butters is dead and I don’t know if he’s gonna kill again, but—”

“A psycho? How… how did Butters die?” Heidi asks in order to regain some sense of logic and order, ‘cause she’s completely confused and her heart feels utterly torn; it’s worse because Craig is still gagging and now Bebe is on the verge of crying. Kenny growls in frustration, clutching at his messy blond hair with a drawn-out curse.

“Fucking, _who cares about the how_! Butters is dead, Heidi! Some twisted, godforsaken fucker has killed him and now… now we’re all in fucking danger!” Kenny stresses and his anger radiates from his body, disturbing the air around them. It has Craig flinching sharply, his gagging abruptly ending; he’s quick to cover up his moment of weakness though, as a scowl paints itself across his face.

“Oh… _god_!” Bebe gasps, clasping her hands to her mouth.

Craig snorts derisively.

“The only godforsaken fucker around here,” he grits out, trembling from the icy air which is only matched by his cold fury, “is _you_ , McCormick – you’re the fucking dangerous one.”

And then the atmosphere is suddenly drenched in tension – it leaves Heidi feeling like she can’t _breathe_ , ‘cause Craig’s glare is full of hate and Kenny looks terribly, terribly wounded and she’s missing something. What is she missing?

What happened to them?

“What?” she utters, her gaze quickly flitting between the two guys, “what’s going on? What does he mean, Kenny?”

Craig scoffs and storms off, stumbling down the path towards the lodge. He doesn’t spare them a farewell – he doesn’t even bother with a second glance backward.

“I… _fuck_ ,” Kenny breathes, staring after him with such a longing expression, it makes Heidi’s heart hurt, “I’ll explain later, you just gotta be careful okay? No one else can die tonight, fuck!”

“Okay,” Heidi says, pushing aside her rising panic to gain some semblance of control over the situation, “okay, listen to me,” she waits until she has both Kenny and Bebe’s attention, “we’re gonna go back to the cable cart, get some help, okay? You catch up to Craig, return to the lodge and warn the others. We’ll… we’ll try and sort something out.”

Kenny looks kinda impressed with her plan – he nods, before his gaze flits over her shoulder. They can still hear Craig walking in the distance, which honestly, sounds like a good sign.

“Jesus, with all the crazy shit that happens up here, it’s kinda like… this mountain is cursed, huh?” Bebe says, nervously laughing, but Heidi can see that she’s inwardly freaking the fuck out.

Kenny chuckles mirthlessly, bitterly. “Yeah,” he says flatly, “ _cursed_.”

Before Heidi can query his odd response, Kenny’s face flickers and settles on a carefully hidden expression. He’s a guy of many masks and whilst Heidi can appreciate the need to conceal your true self from time to time… Kenny does it all the time. And he’s _good_ at it. Like, _too_ good.

 _Scarily_ good.

Even without the hood hiding half his face.

“You okay?” Bebe asks, and Heidi can see that she’s noticed Kenny’s weird little moment too. They had dated for like, two weeks back in Sophomore year – it had been short-lived, ‘cause Bebe ended up bouncing back to Clyde and Kenny had decided to give it another go with Henrietta. Still, dating led them to develop this weird friendship, where they just crack jokes about being boss-ass blondes destined to take over the world, whilst cuddling up in dark corners at parties.

Heidi supposes that it’s thanks to this friendship that Bebe’s kinda gotten pretty good at reading Kenny – that doesn’t mean he’s forthcoming with her in the slightest.

“I’m fine babe,” he brushes her off with a short shrug, before he worries his lip and glances down the path, “I better go… make sure he’s okay.”

Heidi barely blinks and then he’s gone, racing after Craig in an orange blur.

“Oh, fuck,” Bebe breathes.

Heidi’s mind is a _mess_ , awash with thoughts and feelings and it’s all too much, ‘cause _fuck_ , Butters is _dead_? Like, she’s not sure it’s really hit her yet – it’s not really a _concept_ which has formulated in her mind yet, ‘cause the thought of Butters being _dead_? Just doesn’t. It’s not even _fact_ to her just yet…

It’s just so.

And it’s not.

It doesn’t _fucking compute_!

And.

And.

And then she looks at Bebe, who is choking back tears and hugging herself tightly. The blonde looks concerned, but also sorta _angry_ ; it’s silly, but privately, Heidi’s always thought that Bebe was the _Wendy_ of Craig’s gang. Like, their token girl member, alongside Nichole. Bebe always laughs that kinda comment off, but Heidi knows, she _knows_ that Bebe values her friendship with the boys.

It makes her protective of them.

And seeing her hackles rise like this… kinda has Heidi feeling the same way.

“We’re getting help,” Bebe suddenly announces, her voice thick with unshed tears, “’cause w-we should. Right? Go get help? ‘Cause… ‘cause there’s a murderer and oh god, one of our friends is dead, oh _fuck_. We… we should get help, yeah. We’ll. We’ll get help. Right?” Heidi notices that Bebe’s clawing at her arms, her body quivering slightly as she babbles – Heidi guesses she’s going through some kinda shock, so she reaches out and places a hand on Bebe’s arm, gentle and calming. The blonde jumps and stares down at her with stark fear in her pretty blue eyes.

“Yeah,” Heidi murmurs, soft and affirmative, “we should get help.”

Bebe nods, throwing a glance towards the path that Kenny and Craig took before she shivers and refocuses her attention on Heidi.

“Back to the cable cart? It has a radio, I think.”

Heidi smiles, gently tugs Bebe’s arms free and loops one into her own; the blonde blushes and offers her a small, grateful smile – Heidi commits the sight to memory.

“Back to the cable cart,” she confirms.

* * *

**1.31AM**

Kyle watches as Wendy takes her phone out and snaps a photo of the wall.

“What are you doing?” he asks, inching towards her.

He’s not really sure what is going on exactly, but for now, he’s gonna treat this room like a crime scene. ‘Cause the words on the wall sound very threatening and a tussle has clearly been had – but with their group of friends, it’s not completely outta the question to just assume that this is a shitty prank. Still, prank or no prank, Kyle is pissed off, because have they _really_ learned nothing from last year?

But his ire is nothing compared to Wendy’s apparently.

The brunet glares down at her phone, her lips a thin line of displeasure – her expression matches the cold fury in her eyes. “Fancy lawyer like you should know I’m collecting evidence,” she says mirthlessly.

Kyle blinks. “And do you have a suspect in mind?” he asks, though he has a sinking feeling who Wendy is going to accuse…

“That fat piece of shit, who else?”

He closes his eyes – god, he hates being right sometimes.

“Are you sure you want to—”

“Am I sure?” she questions indignantly, rounding on him with disbelief shining in her eyes, “this has Cartman written all over it! He’s clearly messing with us again, except this time, he’s upped his fucking game! _Kidnapping_ Craig – like using him for his sick joke last year wasn’t enough, now he’s got to go that one step further?”

“Wendy,” Kyle begins, uncertain as he holds up his hands, “I know he’s an asshole, but—"

“But nothing,” she stresses, tucking her phone away, “it’s him, Kyle. I know it, I mean… who else could it be?”

Which, okay.

She _has_ a point – there’s no one else up on this mountain apart from them.

And Uncle Budd.

Out of everyone, Cartman is the only asshole who would do something this sick; though the words are pretty fucking confusing, ‘cause what fucking cabin? And why didn’t Craig and Tweek go? Kyle bites his lip and looks down at Tweek.

Yeah – it’s probably a bit _too_ soon to start interrogating people…

“I’m sorry Kyle, I can’t waste time debating this with you,” Wendy says, before she marches out of the room, “we don’t know where Craig is and I’m not about to waste time talking about this shit.”

Then she’s gone – flying out of the room before he can utter another word.

“Hey, Wendy!” Kyle calls, moving to pursue her, but hesitating when he glances down at Stan and Tweek, curled up on the floor. Tweek’s cries have softened and he’s no longer clawing at his arms – instead, he’s holding hard onto Stan, his face tucked into the brunet’s neck. Stan rubs at his back gently and Kyle can’t quite hear what he’s saying, but it’s quiet and soothing. “I’m gonna go make sure she doesn’t do anything _drastic._ Will you be okay with—” Kyle nods to Tweek, “—stuff in here?”

Stan looks down at Tweek, running a hand through the damp, blond locks. “Yeah dude, we’ll be, uh,” he shrugs helplessly, “okay?”

“Sweet,” Kyle says, before dashing out of the room. He flies down the corridor and chases Wendy down the stairs. Her black hair dances across her shoulders and her boots clack sharply against the wood – it’s almost as if she’s heralding death with the sound and Kyle really hopes she exercises some restraint when confronting Cartman.

Kyle shivers as they pass through the lounge; he passes a glance towards the fireplace and makes a mental note to fetch more firewood. God, as if no one thought to stock up, Christ. He quickens his pace as Wendy stalks past the kitchen – her face is lined with grim determination and Kyle feels instantly nauseous. The last time she looked this irate, she had beaten the crap out of Cartman… which okay, it’ll probably cheer Tweek up, but _come_ _on_. The last thing they need this weekend is for a fight to break out.

 _Again_.

“Hey, Wendy?” he calls out, catching up to her swiftly.

“I swear Kyle,” she grits out, marching towards the backyard without looking at him, “I swear, if he’s behind this, I will beat the shit out of him.”

“And he’d deserve it,” Kyle is quick to say, “but maybe we should hear him out first?”

“This goes beyond letting him have a fair trial,” Wendy says, pausing as they reach the door. She glances up at him and Kyle feels his mouth go dry – her eyes are dark, intense and they make his stomach flipflop weirdly, “sorry Kyle, but you’re not at Stanford right now – he’s not your client and you are not representing him.”

Kyle snorts. “I don’t think he’d let me,” he says wryly.

Wendy huffs out a laugh and shakes his head.

“No,” she muses, turning the door handle sharply and pushing the door open, “probably not.”

They both gasp and shiver as they step outside; the sky is clear and littered with stars. It’s almost pretty, but then Kyle hears the beginnings of a commotion. As they round the corner, Kyle is appalled to see Cartman trying to push a fully-clothed Clyde into the bubbling hot tub, whilst Jimmy chokes him with a crutch across the neck. Empty cider cans litter the ground and all three of them are cursing up a storm something fierce.

For a second, Kyle’s incredibly ashamed to be a guy – he glances at Wendy, whose disgust rolls off her body in waves.

Kyle sighs and turns his attention back to the three dumbasses before them. He clears his throat loudly and is mildly satisfied when all three of them jolt suddenly. Cartman breaks free from the middle of the cluster, a sneer painted across his face as he approaches them.

“What happened to this shit being invite-only?” he asks, his mismatched eyes flicking between Kyle and Wendy quickly. Wendy scowls and stalks up to him until she’s mere inches away from his body.

“You lost your right to demand anything when you started fucking with us again!” she spits at him, digging her phone out quickly. Cartman squints at her in disbelief and throws his hands up in the air.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demands, his gaze drifting to Kyle like, yeah okay, _he’s_ gonna the be one to clear this shit up, fuck that.

“This!” Wendy declares, thrusting her phone into his face to show him the photo of Tweek’s ransacked bedroom.

“What the hell? I didn’t do this shit,” he protests, furrowing his brows, “look at that paint job, such sloppy penmanship… and the mess? Clearly the handiwork of an _amateur_.”

Wendy gapes at him, a sound of disbelief escapes her throat as she takes in Cartman’s critical tone.

“Are you serious? One of our friends has been taken and you’re critiquing the handwriting?” she demands, showing the phone to Clyde and Jimmy. Clyde pales, his eyes growing wide with worry, whilst Jimmy stutters out a curse as he reads the painted words.

“Jesus Christ fellas,” Jimmy says, leaning closer towards Wendy’s screen, “when did this happen?”

“Literally a few moments ago, I guess,” Kyle estimates, before turning his attention to Clyde, “Craig is… shit, I’m sorry bro, but whoever did this has taken Craig. Presumably.”

Clyde’s head snaps up. “Taken Craig?” he repeats weakly, “what the fuck does that mean?”

“Craig… he’s been, I don’t know, kidnapped?” Kyle tries to explain, his heartstrings pulling tight when Clyde’s eyes grow wet and his bottom lip trembles; the brunet glances at Wendy’s phone again, scanning the screen desperately before looking back up at Kyle.

“Whoever did this, took Craig?” he asks weakly.

“Yes,” Wendy says firmly, causing Jimmy to curse again, “and _you_ have something to do with it, don’t you Eric!”

“You deaf?” Cartman asks, cocking his head, “I said I had nothing to do with this! Get off my dick, bitch—"

“Do _not_ call me a bitch, you asshole!”

“—and hey, maybe Craig deserves what’s coming to him, you ever consider that?”

Kyle winces, ‘cause Jesus Christ, what a dumb fucking thing to say.

“Craig doesn’t deserve this shit!” Clyde hollers angrily.

“That’s messed up Eric,” Jimmy admonishes.

Wendy practically explodes with fury.

“Are you fucking kidding me? God, what is wrong with you Eric? Where is your empathy, your compassion? Jesus, and to think! You’re actually surprised that you have no friends at Harvard! You wonder why I don’t want to associate myself with you! You really fucking wonder why you’re so goddamn alone and—” she rants, but she’s abruptly cut off by Cartman who looks mortified and furious.

Kyle just feels fucking blind-sided, ‘cause holy fuck – Cartman has no friends at Harvard?

 _You surprised, bro?_ Imaginary Ike whispers.

 _No, but I am fucking done with all these goddamn secrets_.

“Fuck you Wendy!”

“—it’s because you’re a fucking sociopath with no consideration for other people—”

“I will fuck you up bitch!”

“—racist, misogynistic asshole who’s so far in the closet—”

“Shut your fucking face!”

“—goddamn Narnia!”

Just as Kyle’s about to snap at them to calm the fuck down, Jimmy steps up and smacks the both in the arm with a crutch. Wendy barely flinches; Cartman recoils, pawing at his arm with a pout. Jimmy doesn’t look impressed though – his eyebrows are drawn together, a firm frown on his lips.

“Arguing won’t help anyone out, very much,” he says, his tone scolding and disappointed, “and I can barely breathe with all the suh-suh-suh— barely breath with all the— all the— all the suh-suh-sexual tension!”

There’s a beat of silence and then Cartman and Wendy are both gagging, disgust written all over their features.

“Jimmy, what the hell?” Kyle asks on their behalf, ‘cause Jesus Christ, the mental images in his mind are not fucking pretty. It’s… weird, ‘cause a naked Cartman and a naked Wendy don’t really disturb him until they’re, urgh. _Put together_.

“Dude, that’s messed up,” Clyde chips in, shuddering as he hugs himself.

Jimmy grins at them, clearly basking in the effect he’s had on the group – Kyle just shakes his head in disbelief. Unfortunately, Wendy doesn’t allow herself to be distracted for long; the disgust fades from her face and fierce determination fills in the blanks.

She squares her shoulders and rounds on Cartman again.

“Look, just tell us where Craig is so we can go back to pretending everything is okay again,” she says, sounding more tired than angry now.

Cartman rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“As I said before, _bitch_ ,” he says, glowering down at her, “I had fuck-all to do with that shit. Wish I had though, I love fucking with Craig.”

“Exactly!” Wendy says, impassioned as she waves her phone around deliberately.

“Suh-suh-sorry Wendy,” Jimmy says, an apologetic smile on her face, “but Cartman’s been with me this whole time. If Craig got taken a few muh-muh-muh— a few moments ago, then it can’t have been him.”

Cartman’s grin is overbearingly smug and the urge to kick him in the balls is growing too great to resist. Kyle scowls whilst Wendy mutters out a curse – she looks incredibly irritated, which isn’t helped when Cartman proceeds to fold his arms and loom over her.

“Guess someone owes me an apology,” he says smarmily.

“I’m _not_ apologising,” Wendy stresses, “because I don’t see anyone else doing this!”

“Well,” Clyde begins, slow and unsure, “who else knew about the cabin? ‘Cause someone must’ve been pissed that they didn’t go.”

“Clyde’s right – I mean, I didn’t know about the cabin, but I was with Stan and Wendy when this happened,” Kyle says, keeping his gaze focused on Cartman’s face. There’s been a lot of fucking secrets going around tonight and he just knows that the asshole is hiding more than he initially believed, “so let’s narrow it down: who would’ve been pissed that they stayed here?”

 _You know bro_ , Imaginary Ike whispers, _you know who would’ve wanted Craig gone_.

“But no one else has the sick mind to carry out something a prank like this – are we really going to give him the benefit of the doubt after last year?” Wendy protests, though Kyle can see her resolve slowly weaken against their logic. He understands why she’s so eager to pin the blame on Cartman, but the facts don’t lie. If Cartman really _had_ been down here the whole time, then he really couldn’t have taken Craig…

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Cartman grins widely, which. Well.

Kinda just proves Wendy’s whole fucking argument.

“I mean, really? Who else could’ve done this?” she demands, thrusting her phone into the air.

“Hey Wendy, I know he’s a dick but Cartman is innocent,” Clyde says, before he pauses and smacks his lips, as if tasting the words on his tongue, “yep, I’m never saying that again…”

“Then who took Craig?” she asks, rounding on Clyde who instantly holds up his hands, despite irritation flickering across his features, “‘cause I highly doubt Craig himself would pull a prank that’s this _sick_ on his fiancé!”

“ _Fiancé_?” Cartman gapes, his face twitching oddly as if he’s not sure whether to laugh mockingly or gush with excitement.

“Goddammit Wendy, that’s supposed to be a secret!” Clyde scolds, narrowing his eyes at her.

Wendy scoffs and crosses her arms. “Everyone here _knows_ Clyde, it’s like the worst-kept secret ever!”

“ _I_ didn’t know!” Cartman calls out, gesturing to himself with indignant outrage glinting in his mismatched eyes. Kyle blinks at him pointedly, ‘cause seriously? Was he honestly fucking surprised?

“I wonder why, asshole,” Clyde snipes at him, his sweet face twisted into a sour expression. He turns to Wendy, concern shining in his eyes, “where’s Tweek? Is he okay?”

Wendy shakes her head firmly – Clyde and Jimmy tense up with matching expressions of distress.

“Stan’s with him in his bedroom,” she explains, before turning a cold glare back to Cartman, “he’s _not_ okay in the slightest – he’s actually pretty fucking hysterical because _someone_ thought last year wasn’t enough and had to make _him_ their newest victim!”

Clyde and Jimmy exchange looks of concern – god, Kyle hopes Stan’s managed to calm Tweek down.

Especially when one considers how _furious_ he’ll be when he gets over his distress.

“You better watch your tone Wendy,” Cartman says, like he’s offering her some sage advice, “you’re starting to sound _very_ accusatory.”

Wendy bares her teeth, but then something unreadable settles over her expression – it’s calmer than fury, but it doesn’t make Kyle feel any less on edge. Rather, he kinda wants to jump between her and Cartman; he’s just not quite sure who he’d be protecting…

“Okay, so maybe you _didn’t_ take Craig – but you _must’ve_ been involved somehow, right Kyle?” Wendy asks, turning to him with beseeching eyes that _beg_ him to agree with her.

“Kyle, will you tell get Stan to leash his fucking dog?”

“Call me that again asshole, I _dare_ you!”

 _Jesus Christ, you’re wasting time,_ Imaginary Ike rolls his eyes, looking incredibly unimpressed in Kyle’s mind.

Kyle can’t help but concur.

“Both of you, stop it!” Kyle demands, pushing them away from each other firmly, “we’re not going to get anywhere bickering with each other about who could’ve done this! Craig is still missing – we need to start _looking_ for him, then _he_ can tell us who did this shit!”

Wendy opens her mouth and then closes it, nodding despite the disgruntled expression on her face. Cartman falls silent too, rolling his eyes as he steps away from Kyle.

“Alright, we should probably split up and—” Kyle cuts himself off and glances around, “—hey. Where’s Kenny?”

Clyde shrugs. “Last I saw, he was in the kitchen with Butters,” he says, wrinkling his nose – his distaste of Kenny is obvious. Though he’s still pretty easy-going with the guy, he’s always been _off_ with the blond; as someone with a Super Best Friend, Kyle can’t exactly blame him… but come on.

It’s not like _Craig_ is completely fucking innocent either.

“I saw Butters like half an hour ago upstairs,” Kyle says, choosing to not comment on Clyde’s sour attitude, “so where did Kenny get to?”

Cartman snorts. “Maybe they’re sucking each other’s dicks in the woods,” he says, his grin widening when Clyde growls softly, “I’m just saying. Kenny probably painted that shit and whisked Craig away for some extramarital nastiness.”

“Craig wouldn’t do that,” Clyde says heatedly, his eyes glowing with hate as he stares Cartman down.

“You sure about that Clyde?” Cartman asks, his tone _knowing_. Clyde grits his teeth as a weird expression flutters across his face – Kyle watches as his body deflates though. He looks stubbornly defensive though, despite the resignation that gleams in his eyes.

“Well, what about Butters?” Clyde says instead, gesturing towards Wendy’s phone, “he’s the one that wanted Craig to fuck off to the cabin!”

“Okay, yeah, ‘cause _Butters_ is gonna do something like this?” Wendy says, rolling her eyes.

“Shows how much you know about fucking Butters,” Cartman snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets. Kyle sees Jimmy open his mouth, no doubt to make a dirty joke, and that’s when his patience meets its end.

“No, no, no,” he chants, holding up his hands, “we’re doing it _again_ – this is all pointless until we find Craig, so let’s just quit pointing fingers and do something productive for once! Jesus Christ, did we learn nothing from last year? Are we really going to make the same mistake and risk someone’s life, ‘cause we’re too busy argui—"

His admonishment is cut off sharply when a scream echoes throughout the lodge. It’s slightly muffled but’s loud enough to reduce them all to silence. Horrifyingly enough… the voice sounds like _Tweek_. Wendy and Kyle swap a look of horror before they rush back inside. There’s a chorus of footsteps following them, but Kyle pays them no mind ‘cause fuck. Fuck.

This weekend has barely begun and it’s already gone to shit.

He grits his teeth and braces himself… but nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight that greets him in the lounge. Craig is naked and half-soaked in blood, his body shivering and dripping with melted snow. He’s wrapped up tightly in Tweek’s strong arms, his face buried in his boyfriend’s throat. Tweek’s sniffling wetly, but he’s holding himself up in the face of Craig’s distress. Stan hovers over them with a blanket in his hands, looking lost and confused, his eyes flitting between them and.

And, well. The guy who has Kyle’s complete attention.

 _Kenny_.

His friend’s face is ashen, with tear-stained cheeks – his eyes are red and filled with horror. Kyle’s never seen Kenny look so _open_ before and it shakes him to the core. ‘Cause something _bad_ has happened and it’s unnerved the blond to an unholy fucking level, which means. Well. Which means that the rest of them have no chance of coping with whatever is going on…

“What the hell?” Wendy asks – she moves to step closer, but she’s roughly pushed aside by Clyde who practically flies across the room towards Craig. The brunet sinks to his knees beside Tweek, reaching out to gently brush a blood-stained cheekbone. Craig flinches at the touch, burying his face deeper into his boyfriend’s body. Tweek continues to murmur sweet reassurances, stroking Craig’s hair soothingly.

“Who did this to you dude?” Clyde says, and Kyle is impressed to hear a distinct lack of hysteria in the guy’s voice, “come on man, it’s _me_. Who the hell hurt you?”

Craig slowly pulls away from Tweek and peers at his best friend – he opens his mouth to speak, but all that falls out is a broken, wet curse. He’s instantly wrapped up again in two pairs of arms, as Clyde and Tweek both offer him their comfort.

“What the fuck Kenny?” Cartman’s harsh voice breaks through the fragile atmosphere as he stalks up to the trembling blond. Kyle is surprised to see Cartman yank Kenny close to him – it’s not quite a hug, but his grip on Kenny’s shoulders is tight and, well. _Protective_ , Kyle guesses. “Where the hell have you been?”

Kenny blinks blankly; it’s like he’s trying hard to control his emotions, but.

But it’s not working.

He looks devastated and exhausted and Kyle is running over before he can stop himself. He swoops in close and starts petting at Kenny’s face, rubbing softly at the dried tears on his cheeks.

“Kenny,” he says gently, “dude, what happened?”

He watches as Kenny’s throat moves up in down, as his eyes flit between Cartman and Kyle – he’s gearing himself up to answer, but it clearly hurts him. Whatever the answer is to his question, it’s not an easy one and fuck. Fuck.

Kyle isn’t sure he wants to even hear it anymore.

“Butters,” Kenny utters finally, hoarse and broken, “Butters is… _shit_. He’s… he. He’s…”

Oh no.

“Spit it out Kenny!” Cartman orders impatiently.

Fuck, no.

“He… oh god. Fuck, I tried. You had to know, I fucking _tried_!”

“Tried what? Dude, make some fucking sense!”

Kyle kicks Cartman’s ankle sharply to shut him up.

“It’s okay Kenny,” he says, cupping Kenny’s face and forcing the blond to look at him, “take your time.”

Kenny nods, his lilac eyes wounded and haunted. He swallows and steels himself, squaring his shoulders and he tries again. He spares a glance to Craig, flinches and pales, before looking back at Kyle.

“Butters,” he tries again, his fragile voice stronger and more determined, “he’s. He’s dead.”

The silence is deafening, and Kyle can’t really hear much beyond the roaring rush of blood in his ears. Even his Imaginary Ike has fallen silent under the weight of Kenny’s words, ‘cause fuck. Fucking fuck, he’s gonna fucking throw up, Jesus Christ, his mouth tastes bitter, his stomach feels heavy and his brain… his brain feels like it’s lagging, like it can’t quite compute what Kenny is saying.

Tweek is murmuring something to Craig.

Craig simply chokes out some broken response.

A series of mutterings filter through the air as their friends begin to react, but Kyle. Kyle can’t look at them, can’t even acknowledge them, ‘cause he feels. Like he’s underwater and.

And he can’t breathe.

He can’t.

What the fuck?

He just saw Butters.

He _just_ saw him, all happy and excited to play some _dumb_ game.

Like. He was just there. Right fucking there… breathing and living and shit.

He can’t.

He.

Fuck.

 _Breathe Kyle, breathe, breathe, breathe, fucking breathe, oh god, breathe_ …

“Say that again?” Cartman orders, laughing weakly like he isn’t sure if Kenny is joking and oh god, he’s not. He really fucking is _not_. Kenny looks at Cartman with a distressed, frustrated noise and clutches onto the brunet’s arms desperately.

“Dude,” he chokes out again, “Butters is _dead_.”

 _BREATHE_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **LEOPOLD ‘BUTTERS’ STOTCH IS DEAD**
> 
> ****CRAIG’S RELATIONSHIP WITH KENNY HAS SUFFERED SUBSTANTIALLY  
>  **YOUR CHOICE HAS AFFECTED THE GROUP’S DYNAMICS**** **
> 
> ********~~BEBE AND HEIDI ARE GOING TO GET HELP VIA THE CABLE CART'S RADIO – BUT WHO FROM?~~   
>  **~~\- THE FIRE MARSHALL~~   
>  **~~\- THEIR PARENTS~~   
>  **~~\- UNCLE BUDD~~ ** ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> ****************YOUR CHOICE HAS BEEN MADE** ** ** ** ** ** ** **


	10. ACT ONE: Kyle VI | Nichole IV | Tweek II

**1.49AM**

“Butters is dead.”

The ensuing silence is fucking _thick_ and _loud_.

Kyle can barely acknowledge the fresh tear that streams down Kenny’s cheek and he’s easily knocked aside by Stan, who quickly takes his place. The brunet has given the blanket to Clyde, who then used it to swaddle Craig’s shivering form up tightly; now Stan’s devoting all his energy to mothering Kenny. He’s swiping at Kenny’s tears, a faint frown on his face as he bats away Cartman who scowls irritably at him.

“What the fuck?” Stan asks Kenny incredulously, breaking the silence with little care, “what _happened_?”

Kyle tries hard to listen to Kenny’s answer, he really does… but he feels sick and faint. He watches as Kenny’s lips move, as Cartman recoils and spits out a series of curses – he thinks someone starts crying, but he. He. He feels frozen, paralysed, _stuck_.

Butters is dead.

Butters is.

 _Dead_.

And that.

Doesn’t seem.

Right.

That’s.

Not okay.

He… is not okay.

_Butters is dead, Butters is dead, Butters is fucking dead!_

He… feels _really_ not okay, and—

“Kyle! Snap out of it!”

—and suddenly Stan is slapping him across the face.

Kyle blinks quickly as he clutches at his burning cheek, pursing his lips when Stan only shrugs apologetically in response. He would’ve been more pissed, but Stan is crying and. And Kyle realises that he’s not the only one who’s feeling all fucked up over…

Over Butters being _dead_.

“Sorry, you were freaking me out,” he says, before swiping at his eyes roughly, “you were like, hyperventilating and shit.”

Kyle nods, ‘cause he’s not really sure what else he can say. Instead, he just swallows down his pain and squares up, steeling himself for the oncoming chaos, ‘cause _Butters is dead_. He straightens up and approaches Kenny again, careful to keep an eye on Cartman who hasn’t… really… said _anything_ yet. The brunet just stares down at Kenny with a glazed expression – it’s like his brain is buffering, but Kyle doesn’t have time for Cartman to finally register this shit.

“Kenny,” he says thickly, before he clears his throat and tries again, “ _Kenny_ – what happened?”

But Kenny isn’t really listening to him – his friend, who normally tries so hard to cover up his feelings, is falling apart and. And it’s kinda freaking him out; Kyle has seen Kenny cry before, but as he got older and as he tried to move on from his childhood, Kenny’s heart… well, it had hardened. Despite being quite open around his friends, it’s still a façade.

It’s still a mask.

But right now? That mask is crumbling away, and Kyle really doesn’t know what to do.

Kenny’s eyes are stark with horror and fear, his fingers are slowly turning white from how tight his clenched fists have become… his chest rapidly rises and falls, and Kyle can _taste_ the oncoming panic attack, he can just see it happening, so he does the first thing that comes to mind.

He slaps Kenny across the face.

It.

Doesn’t really have the effect he had intended.

Instead of snapping out of his panic, Kenny bursts into tears and shit, shit, _shit_.

“Dude,” Stan admonishes with a yelp, as he returns to rubbing Kenny’s shoulders desperately, cooing soothingly at their friend.

“Kyle!” Wendy scolds, and yeah, he knows he fucked up, he _knows_ , okay?

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Kyle is quick to apologise, holding his hands up and wow. Right, no more hitting the guy with an abusive childhood, _goddammit_ , he’s smarter than this, come on, “I thought it would work!”

“Well yeah, on _you_ ,” Stan says, pursing his lips when Kenny hiccups miserably, “not _Kenny_.”

Kyle flushes sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he averts his eyes when Wendy sighs behind him. He really hadn’t meant to make things worse, he honestly thought it would shock Kenny out of his spiraling reverie – but he guesses Stan has a point.

Some people respond well to being subjected to loud noises and painful sensations when panicking, whereas other people, like _Kenny_ clearly, grew up being intimidated by such things, and so they really… _don’t_ … cope well when being exposed to them. Fuck, okay. Kyle fucked up, but he can fix this.

“Hey, hey Kenny,” he murmurs, approaching Kenny slowly, “dude, I’m sorry – I didn’t. Fuck, I won’t hit you again, I just panicked, I’m sorry.”

Kenny nods like he’s listening, but… but he’s still crying and sniffling.

Fuck.

It’s like he’s on autopilot and Kyle really doesn’t know how to bring Kenny back down to earth. He swaps a look with Stan, who just looks as lost as he does, and—

“ _Kenny_ ,” Cartman suddenly says, and. And. And it’s so _weird_ how the brunet has this _power_. It’s like, he says something, _anything_ , and the whole room’s suddenly on tenterhooks, waiting with bated breath for his next word or move. Kyle flicks a glance behind him and yeah, even Craig and his friends are watching, quiet and tense, “Kenny, look at me.”

The blond sniffs and looks up at his best friend – Kyle _honestly_ doesn’t really get their friendship. Like, Kenny _says_ they’re best friends, but then he says it’s ‘cause he feels bad for Cartman – but, then they have this weird _connection_ , like no one can really understand them apart from each other. Kyle, secretly, inwardly, _deep, deep down_ , often feels jealous that Kenny can read Cartman without really trying.

Now… he’s kinda _glad_ that Cartman has this bond with Kenny, ‘cause the blond slowly calms down, his desperate gaze focused on the brunet’s mismatched eyes.

“What fucking happened?” Cartman demands, a fierce frown on his face. Kyle watches as Kenny’s eyes slowly shutter, the panic subsiding as a wall slowly builds up, protecting Kenny from. Well, Kyle isn’t exactly sure _what_ , could be from being judged, or getting hurt – unfortunately for the blond, his face isn’t quite the impenetrable fortress as before and Kyle can see the pain lingering in those lilac eyes.

“Okay, so, I went out to the shed, right?” Kenny begins hoarsely, his eyes flitting between Cartman, Stan and Kyle – he seems almost _shy_ as he tries to get his story out, unable to keep his gaze steady and focused, “‘cause there’s no fucking firewood for the fireplace and it’s goddamn freezing, so I thought, fuck it, let’s go get some wood—”

“Focus Kenny,” Cartman orders, his lips a thin line of displeasure as Kenny rambles in front of him, “what the fuck happened to _Butters_.”

Kenny sniffs and nods.

“I’m getting there dude, chill your tits,” he says in a strained whine, before he chews his lip and sighs, “okay, so. So, I go to the shed and, and then I see them—”

“See who?” Cartman asks quickly, his grip on Kenny tightening. The blond flinches and Kyle clucks his tongue and bats at Cartman’s arm sharply. The brunet releases his grip on Kenny and growls at Kyle in warning – it doesn’t phase him the slightest, however.

“ _Dude_ , don’t interrupt!” he orders, and Kenny glances at him gratefully before he licks his chapped lips and continues on with his story.

“Craig and Butters… they were like, chained to this fucking wall and there was a sawblade… a-and. And it fucking cut Butters in _half_ , like. Fucking sliced him up and. And I tried. But I couldn’t… and now he’s _dead_!” Kenny says, hugging himself tightly as he watches Cartman swear up a storm – the last time he had sworn _this_ much, he had single-handedly electrocuted Saddam Hussein to an almost second death.

“Fuck, Cartman,” Kyle calls out, ‘cause the dude is clearly on the edge and _no one_ wants to deal with a Cartman who’s on the edge, much less him, “dude, it’s oka—”

“It’s fucking not, _Kyle_!”

“I tried to save him,” Kenny says, his tone urgent, like he’s _begging_ Cartman to believe him, “I _tried_ to save him, I really did!”

“Hey, hey,” Wendy says, crooning softly as she joins their cluster, placing a gentle hand on Kenny’s arm, “it’s okay – you saved Craig, right? That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Kenny falls quiet, “right,” he echoes hollowly.

No one says anything – Kyle guesses it’s ‘cause they’re still trying to digest what’s happened. Stan’s eyes are wet, and he can hear Jimmy sniffing suspiciously from behind him, but. But everyone is _silent._ Which, for their little group of friends… is fucking _scary_.

“But you didn’t,” a cold voice breaks the tense quiet, and suddenly, Craig is standing up. He holds onto his blanket tightly, as he leans against Tweek for support. Jimmy and Clyde hover by him with matching expressions of concern, “you didn’t _save_ me. You didn’t _want_ to save _me_.” His tone is acidic, sharp and so full of unbridled fury, that even Cartman takes a wary step back. Kyle spares Kenny an inquisitive look, but the blond’s bottom lip trembles as he looks away, sheepish and ashamed.

“Craig, I—”

“ _Do not_!” Craig spits out, and everyone jumps in response. Tweek’s arms wrap around Craig’s body and Clyde’s neck is close to snapping as he glances between his best friend and Kenny. “You… you _tried_ to save him? You fucking killed him because you couldn’t work out a fucking _lever_.”

Kenny’s face pales as the spotlight returns to him.

Tweek’s face, stained with tears and worry, slowly colours red – but it isn’t a blush.

Not even close.

“What is he talking about?” he asks, pulling Craig tighter against him. He has a hand wrapped around Craig’s trembling shoulder – his engagement ring is stark against his pale skin. His tone is firm, _unforgiving_ , and his form is subtly quivering. “Kenny? What is my fiancé talking about?”

Kenny swallows. His throat works rapidly.

A stone forms in Kyle’s gullet and _drops_ , hard and heavy as stark realisation hits him.

“Dude,” he says, leaning away from Kenny with a furrowed brow, “what aren’t you telling us?”

Kenny worries his lips and seemingly nods to himself.

“I… _we_ weren’t alone – there was this, I don’t know? Fucking asshole there, talking to us through a speaker,” he says, ducking his head to tuck his chin into the loose scarf around his neck, “he. There was this goddamn _lever_ and a fucking _sawblade_ , man. And the dude. He. He told me that… that ‘cause of what happened last year, I. I had to fucking make a choice… ‘cause I didn’t make one last year, apparently.”

“A choice…?” Wendy echoes, sharing a look of growing apprehension with Stan.

“Yeah. A _choice_ ,” Kenny says bitterly, “I had to _pick_ which one… I had to save.”

No one says anything for a moment, ‘cause really, what is there to fucking say?

“And you picked fucking _Craig_?” Cartman asks, aghast and genuinely offended.

Kyle closes his eyes and inwardly wonders why he’s even surprised.

“No,” Craig stonily answers Cartman, throwing him an icy glare, “he picked _Butters_ – except he must’ve pulled the lever in the wrong direction, ‘cause I fucking lived anyway.” Kyle finds himself swaying on the spot, positively _stunned_ by Craig’s words – he spares a glance at Tweek and blanches at how _fucking livid_ the guy looks. He subtly slides to the left, inching his way in front of Kenny…

Just in case.

‘Cause.

Holy shit – Kenny _picked_ Butters?

“You, _nngh_ , picked _Butters_? You… you tried to _kill_ Craig?” Tweek asks, his tone shrill and pitched. His arms are tight around Craig, to the point that brunet looks incredibly uncomfortable… but he doesn’t try to escape. Instead, he clings back, keeping his gaze carefully averted.

Kyle guesses he’s more hurt by Kenny’s choice than he’s letting on.

Which ignites a flicker of irritation within him, but he quashes it fast – it really isn’t the time, nor the place. Plus, he doesn’t think _Kenny_ would appreciate him bringing up Craig’s poorly concealed crush right now.

“I,” Kenny begins, slow and unsure, “I get that you’re mad, but… but it was _hard_. You have to understand, I couldn’t. I just. I had to make a _choice_!”

“And you picked _Butters_?” Clyde says, unimpressed and uncharacteristically cold. Fuck, even Jimmy’s frowning right now, and Kyle can see the invisible boundaries being drawn between two groups of friends – goddammit, this is _way_ worse than last year, _fuck_.

“Fucking yes,” Cartman interjects, his tone annoyed and exasperated, “he picked goddamn Butters! Why wouldn’t he?”

“‘Cause he’s apparently in love with—”

“You know, none of you were ever this torn up when it was _Jason_ who had died, or, or _Pip_ ,” Wendy chips in, ‘cause she’s clever and she can sense that shit’s going to kick off if someone doesn’t step in. Kyle sighs in relief and feels a surge of gratitude towards Wendy – if there really _is_ someone dangerous on this mountain, then they need to keep their wits about them.

Losing their minds to pointless bickering won’t benefit anyone.

Especially when all this shit could wait until they’re down this fucking mountain.

 _You really gonna blame them for being upset?_ Ike whispers in his head, _kinda heartless, don’t you think?_

 _Fuck off_ , Kyle growls back… but it’s true, it _is_ heartless, but the time for panicking is over.

They really can’t waste time hashing over old shit, not when Butters is fucking _dead_ and more of them could be soon if they don’t get their act together, goddammit.

“Well yeah, those guys were assholes, who gives a shit about them?” Cartman asks, throwing his hands up, “we’re talking about _Butters_ , dickhole—”

“Cartman!” Stan cuts in quickly, not even sparing him a glance.

“— _gender-non-specific-hole_ , whatever!” Cartman scoffs, rolling his eyes, “my point remains the same! Butters is, fuck, was _my_ friend, I had him perfectly conditioned and molded! Do you have any idea how long it’ll take t-to find someone n-new, who just. Who just _got_ me, Wendy? Unconditionally and without expectation? Do you?”

“Oh my god, are you crying?” Wendy asks, slightly unnerved as she takes a step back.

“Fuck you Wendy,” Cartman spits, before turning around to roughly rub at his eyes. Kenny makes a move towards him, his arms raised in an aborted attempt at a hug – instead, he awkwardly rubs at Cartman’s shoulders. Kyle wonders if maybe Kenny feels like he doesn’t deserve to comfort Cartman – he wonders if Kenny feels like he doesn’t deserve to be comforted himself.

Kyle sighs and rigidly approaches the pair of them – he hasn’t hugged Cartman in. Well. _Years_ – not since puberty hit them, at least. But hugging Kenny is pretty much second nature, so he wraps his long arms around the pair of them and yanks them into a tight hug. He feels Cartman choke on a sob and feels Kenny’s body tremble and knows that he’s made the right choice. Then a second pair of arms join his and Kyle peeks over Kenny’s blond mop to see Stan has joined their little cluster.

It’s.

It’s real fucking nice.

‘Cause he can’t remember the last time they had all hugged as a group; now, as Kenny shudders through his pain and Cartman tries hard to repress his sobs… well, the nostalgia just bitch-slaps Kyle in the face and then cuddles him close, whilst kissing him on the forehead and—

“Sorry to break up the love-fest fellas,” Jimmy pipes up, sounding rather impatient, “but maybe we should do something about the asshole trying to kill us, very much!”

“Yeah, and maybe quit it with pity party you’re throwing for the dick who tried to kill Craig,” Clyde adds snidely, absently petting Craig’s hair despite his irritable friend trying to bat his hands away, “will you let me love you!” he hisses when Craig smacks him on the nose.

“Stop touching me!” Craig snipes back, tugging himself away from Clyde sharply.

Their bickering largely goes ignored as Cartman tears himself away from the wholesome group-hug to quickly advance upon Clyde. Jimmy protectively sticks out a crutch in front of the brunet, whilst Tweek is quick to pull Craig closer to him and away from the impending danger; Craig simply allows himself to be yanked around, falling against his boyfriend easily with a tired sigh.

“Fuck you Clyde,” Cartman spits heatedly, thrusting his finger in the brunet’s face, “you don’t get to talk to Kenny like that!”

“Oh sure, like you wouldn’t be biting _my_ head off if _I_ was the dick who killed Butters,” Clyde throws back at him, muscling his way in front of Craig and Tweek, “you’re just fucking biased!”

“I’m biased?” Cartman gestures to himself incredulously, “me? Are you serious—?”

“—yeah, I am fucking serious—”

“Oh my god, enough! You’re _all_ goddamn biased!” Wendy interrupts, clearly frustrated and tired, “and it’s making you blind to what’s really important!”

“Oh yeah?” Cartman rounds on her quickly, “how’s that fucking fence feeling, Wendy?”

“I’m _not_ sitting on the fen—"

“I just figured it’d be a little uncomfortable considering the huge stick up your ass!”

“—oh, fuck _you_ , Eric!”

“Stop it, okay, all of you just need to stop it!” Kyle is quick to interrupt, standing between them with his hands held up, “I think… I think we all need a time out. And to start being a little more proactive, ‘cause we’re not alone on this mountain and we’re in _danger_ – so, we need to start… sorting shit out to protect ourselves.”

Wendy nods, whilst Cartman scoffs.

The ensuing silence is thick, and Kyle cannot believe he is the only one trying to get his priorities in order. Stan is still cuddled up tight against Kenny; Kyle watches as his best friend furrows his brows and cocks his head, a contemplative look flitting across his eyes.

“Hey, Kenny,” Stan asks, soft and fragile, “why _did_ you pick Butters?”

“Dude,” Kyle sighs, pointedly glancing at Craig, “seriously?”

Stan looks suitably contrite. “Come on dude, I’m only—”

“I just couldn’t hurt him again,” Kenny interjects, gazing down at the floor, “I. I hurt him so much, I didn’t. I couldn’t do it again.” His words are loud, but his pain is louder, and Stan’s arms wrap themselves around Kenny’s tiny body harder. Kyle hears Craig mutter something dark, but Jimmy is quick to hush his friends, calming down the burning ire which bubbles between them.

“Alright,” Kyle says, ‘cause they need to move on. Someone is out there fucking with them and… and… and he looks around, inwardly kicking himself, ‘cause fuck. How has he not noticed how small their group has become? “hey, where’s Heidi? And Bebe? Token, Nichole? Where are they?”

“Token and Nichole went to the cabin,” Cartman replies before his mournful expression is artfully hidden behind a taunting expression – he aims it at Craig and Tweek like a weapon, poised and dangerous, “guess you’re pretty pissed you didn’t call dibs now, huh?”

“Cartman,” Kyle warns with a growl, but the brunet merely smirks in response, unrepentant and shameless.

“Bebe and Heidi went back to the cable cart – Bebe had forgotten some of her stuff,” Clyde explains, his demeanour quickly falling apart as distress, “oh _shit_ , what if they’ve gotten hurt, what if something is hunting them now! Someone should go out there, right?”

“We saw them, on our way back,” Craig croaks out, leaning against Tweek tiredly, “they got Bebe’s shit and I think they’re going to get help.”

“Think they’ll be okay?” Clyde asks fretfully, a soft whine underlining his words.

“Don’t worry, Bebe can pack a puh-puh-puhhh— Bebe can pack a— pack a puh-puhh— can pack a puh— Bebe is pretty strong!” Jimmy says, rubbing Clyde reassuringly on the back. It seemingly works as Clyde hiccups sadly but nods, hanging onto Jimmy’s every word.

“Right,” Kyle says, before he pulls out his phone, “fuck, no bars. Has anyone else got a signal?”

There’s a resounding chorus of negative replies and Kyle feels exhaustion weigh heavily upon his shoulders.

“Okay, let’s just… keep checking,” he says, tucking his phone away, “signal is pretty sketchy, but it’s not totally non-existent—”

“Should we call Uncle Budd then?” Jimmy asks, tilting his head, “if we get suh-suh-signal again?”

“Fuck that,” Kyle shoots down immediately, “we should… we should probably call our parents though, just so someone knows we need help?”

“Oh wow, yeah,” Cartman scoffs, clapping mockingly, “let’s call our parents – hey, show of hands! Who here actually _told_ their parents they were coming back to this stupid lodge?”

Kyle is disappointed, but not surprised, when no one lifts a hand.

“Got any more bright ideas, Kyle?” Cartman snipes, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck off Cartman!” he spits, before he turns away - the cogs in his brain turning quickly as he tries to connect the sporadic dots in his mind, “okay. Okay. So, something really fucked up is happening, but we gotta. We gotta figure out who’s behind this, okay? I mean… there has to be something in this lodge that will help us figure shit out. There’s nowhere else on this mountain – apart from the cabin, I guess.”

“And the shed,” Stan adds before he glances at Kenny, “but fuck going back there for now, huh?”

Kenny snorts sadly and nods.

“Fuck that,” he agrees hoarsely, before he looks at Kyle with inquiring eyes, “what’s that plan?”

“The plan is… the plan is that someone is on this mountain, doing messed up shit, and I think,” Kyle hesitates, glances up at Kenny and tries again, “I think Uncle Budd has something to do with it. That’s why we can’t ring him about. About Butters.”

There’s a beat of silence as his friends digest his words – he watches as Stan furrows his brows, as Cartman frowns and Kenny. Kyle watches as Kenny’s face pales, his throat working as he gulps inaudibly.

“Is this… about what you were telling Stan and me before?” Wendy asks softly, cocking her head as she peers up at Kyle, “about… Butters and Uncle Budd?”

Kyle nods shortly, not able to meet her eyes.

“I think so,” he says, hugging himself tightly.

“What about Butters and Uncle Budd?” Cartman asks, stepping up to Kyle with a sharp gleam in his mismatched eyes – he’s like a shark on the hunt after it’s scented blood, “what the hell is she talking about?”

Kyle worries his lip and holds himself tighter. “I. When I went upstairs, I, uh. I went into his bedroom by mistake and,” he pauses and looks up at Cartman with a pained look, “and I found some fucked up shit. There was some really weird stuff and. And I don’t know, I just _feel_ like he has something to do with this.” Cartman pales, spits out a curse and turns away, his fists clenched tightly.

“What,” Clyde asks flatly, “you think _Uncle Budd_ has something to do with Butters dying?”

“You really think the guy would kill his nephew?” Jimmy asks, alarmed.

Kyle swallows hard. “I don’t think… I don’t think he’d _kill_ Butters,” he admits, “but. But he’s not totally innocent. He’s up to some weird shit and. And I saw some stuff with his bed and closet. God dude, there has to be _some_ kind of connection – weird random shit doesn’t just happen without reason, especially on _this_ mountain.”

“So, you wanna count Uncle Budd as our Psycho Suspect #1?” Stan asks, finally releasing Kenny from his grip as he gestures towards the upper floor, “seems… a bit of a stretch, even if he is super creepy.”

“A stretch, sure,” Kyle says with a shrug, “but what else do we have?”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s a stretch,” Cartman hisses out, turning to face them with flashing violet and red eyes, “he’s _dead_ anyways.”

There’s a beat of silence before Stan nods with a bewildered expression.

“Point made – so do you wanna check it out?” he asks, arching a brow.

“Oh, _fuck_ that! Dude, I’m not ever going back into that room,” Kyle says, firmly with heat burning his words, “I saw it once, I’m not doing it again!”

Stan nods, holding his hands up “chill dude, I’ll do it then,” he offers, before he glances around the room, “anyone else want to come with?”

“Cuh-cuh-count me in,” Jimmy says, flexing his fingers on his crutches, “I could do with a breather, very much.”

Kyle nods, ‘cause he honestly gets why Jimmy wants to abscond from the drama for a little while.

He would too, but he’s just so fucking invested in literally everything.

“Okay, so any other creepy shit going on?” Wendy asks, throwing her hands up despairingly, “any more creepy relatives we should know about?”

“Well, I don’t know about creepy relatives, but we heard weird fucking noises in the woods before,” Clyde pipes up, before sending a short nod towards Cartman, “that asshole tried to drown me ‘cause I wouldn’t check them out.”

“Weird noises?” Wendy asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah, sounded like wood cracking,” Jimmy explains, shuddering slightly, “fruh-fruh-freaked us out, very much!”

“Right, we should check that out too,” Kyle says, nodding firmly.

“Guess you gotta get your big-boy pants on, Clyde,” Cartman snipes with a sharp grin, “‘cause someone got Butters killed and we’re hunting that fucker down.” Kyle shivers at the brunet’s tone – he hasn’t heard Cartman sound so… _dangerous_ in months. His voice is a curling growl which ripples through the air and seeps into people’s bodies like poison.

It’s.

It’s something else, honestly.

“Don’t have to look too far then,” Clyde mutters as he glares at Kenny, but he quickly settles down when Jimmy shoots him a warning glance, “look, I’m _not_ going into the woods. It’s fucking suicide!”

Wendy scowls and stalks up to him, clearly not in the mood for an argument.

“Okay, listen up! My _best friends_ are out there and if there’s something in the woods hunting them down, then I want to protect them!” she says, her words heated as she stares down Clyde, “so you’re gonna take me to those weird-ass noises, got it?”

“But—”

“ _Bebe_ is out there! Don’t you want the chance to protect her too?”

“Goddammit,” Clyde breathes, his gaze lingering on Craig – Tweek gives him a reassuring nod though, so the brunet sighs and turns back to Wendy, “alright fine. But if I die, I will be _so_ mad.”

“Clyde…”

“ _So_ mad.”

Kyle nods. “Cool, we’ll come with,” he says, gesturing to Cartman who screws his face up in disbelief, “don’t even start Cartman, you’re coming with.”

“Bossy bitch,” Cartman mutters, but he doesn’t argue any further, so Kyle counts that as a win.

His Imaginary Ike imitates a whip in his mind; he bites back a smile and turns his attention to Tweek and Craig who are tightly entwined around each other. Kyle hates to disrupt their little moment of peace, but he just needs to know where everyone will be, otherwise he won’t be able to concentrate on this crazy-ass mystery.

“Hey Tweek?” he prods gently, cocking his head.

“I’m staying here,” Tweek answers without further prompting, flashing Kyle a worried look, “Craig needs to warm up quickly before he catches hypothermia or pneumonia – I need to stay with him, get the fire going a-and keep an eye on him.” Craig doesn’t say anything – he just melts into Tweek’s touch, a small, appreciative smile dancing on his lips.

“That’s fair dude,” Kyle says, before he turns to Kenny, “hey Ken, are you gonna stay here or come with us?” He’s trying hard to make the question sound light and inquiring and not like he’s barking orders at his traumatised friend – Kenny doesn’t get a chance to answer him though.

He barely even gets the chance to open his fucking mouth.

“ _Fuck_ that, kick him out the lodge!” Clyde scowls, his distaste of Kenny clearly has clearly evolved into full-on loathing, “let the bears fucking eat him!”

“Dude!” Stan cries out, shocked and outraged, “we’re _not_ killing Kenny!”

“He _killed_ Butters!” Clyde protests angrily, “he tried to _kill_ my best friend!”

“You bastard,” Kyle snaps out angrily, stepping in front of Kenny, “it wasn’t really him! He was just a pawn in a psycho’s sick game and, and— besides, you name _one_ person in this fucking room who doesn’t have blood on their hands, you goddamn hypocrite!”

“I never chose to kill my mom!” Clyde rages, pointing aggressively at the tiny blond behind Kyle’s back, “he tried to _kill_ Craig. He _chose_ that shit but messed up! You never _chose_ to kill thousands of Canadians, right?”

“Okay, guess by that logic, we gotta kick out Cartman, ‘cause he chose to kill his dad? Or Wendy, who chose to kill our substitute that one time?” Kyle argues, cocking his head with narrow eyes; absently, he hears Wendy grumble under her breath and just _knows_ that his comment will come back to bite him, “you gonna kick them out too?”

Clyde opens his mouth, but then Jimmy sidles up to him, whispering quickly in his ear. Kyle can’t really hear what Jimmy is saying, but it seems to settle Clyde somewhat. Craig’s best friend sighs in resignation and glares sullenly up at Kyle.

“No,” he says, his sweet face at odds with his bitter tone, “but _he_ can stay the hell away from _my_ friends.” Clyde’s tone is dark, darker than anything Kyle’s ever heard before as he glowers at Kenny. Kyle rolls his eyes and turns to Kenny.

“Dude, you wanna come with us to check out the woods?” he asks again, feeling slightly bad, ‘cause a small part of him kinda agrees with Clyde – just not for the same reasons, “or head upstairs with Stan and Jimmy?”

He doesn’t really get the option to stay with Craig and Tweek in the lounge.

Kyle just.

Doesn’t really want to voice that fact aloud.

Kenny’s lilac eyes glaze over as he considers his options; then it hardens, and Kyle just knows that he’s not gonna like what Kenny has to say next.

“Nah, I’ll uh, check the doors and windows,” he says, carefully keeping his gaze away from Craig and Tweek, “I’ll make sure that shit’s locked up and. And keep an eye out for Bebe and Heidi, I guess… from the porch. Fuck, I need to be alone, honestly.”

Kyle blinks.

“You sure dude?” he asks, cocking his head, his gaze drifting to Tweek who looks incredibly irate by this development.

“I’ll be fine,” Kenny promises, ducking his head into his scarf again.

Clyde scoffs and Cartman scowls at him – Kyle can feel the tension rise again, but he sees Stan step between them quickly, a small frown on his face.

“Listen up dudes,” he says firmly, clapping his hands together, “shit’s getting heated, so let’s split and see what we can find, okay?”

Then Stan doesn’t wait for an answer – he simply makes his way towards the stairs, pausing as he passes Kyle. The redhead bites his lip as he feels a blossoming warmth in his stomach; it’s weird, but he always gets this strange sensation whenever Stan takes charge and demonstrates his leadership skills. It’s… like he’s proud of his friend, but.

But like he also.

Kinda.

 _Enjoys_?

Seeing this side of his friend.

Which is _super_ weird and so Kyle puts a pin in that thought bubble quickly. 

“Thanks Stan,” he breathes gratefully instead, his lips twitching into a soft smile when his friend’s face pinkens slightly.

“It’s cool dude,” Stan replies before he clears his throat and turns to Jimmy, who watches them with a crooked smirk, “come on Jimmy, let’s go.”

“If you’re sure Stan,” the brunet says, following Stan upstairs with a soft snicker, “but something tells me it’s _Kyle_ you’d wanna take to the bedroo—”

“ _Dude_!” Kyle hears Stan say, his voice a sharp snap as he interrupts Jimmy – then their voices slowly die away as they venture towards Uncle Budd’s room and Kyle is left questioning the point of Jimmy’s pointed taunt.

It… hadn’t really made any sense.

Still, the implications have Kyle’s stomach doing weird flips and.

Well. He doesn’t really understand why.

 _Put a pin in it dude_ , Ike says warningly, _just put a fucking pin in it_.

“Hey Kyle,” Wendy calls out, “you want to head out now?”

Kyle blinks and turns to see Wendy tilting her head, considering him with a small smile. He roughly swipes a hand across his face and nods shortly. He watches as Clyde wraps Craig up into a tight hug whilst throwing Kenny an acidic glare. The brunet releases his best friend before stalking out of the lounge with a grim expression; Cartman rolls his eyes at Clyde’s attitude before he shoots Kenny a pointed look – Kyle can’t quite read the meaning behind it, but it seems to have Kenny relaxing somewhat. Then Cartman leaves too, beckoning Kyle with a snap of his fingers.

“Goddammit,” Kyle sighs and turns to Wendy, “yeah, let’s go. They’ll only end up killing each other if we’re not there.” He begins to leave the lounge as well, but he pauses as glances at Kenny – the blond merely smiles sadly at him and shoos him away with a lazy flick of his wrist. Craig curls up the sofa and cocoons himself in his blanket.

Tweek stands in front of him, his eyes burning as his body twitches.

Reluctantly, ‘cause he knows this is _such_ a bad idea, Kyle leaves the lounge – Wendy is quick on his heels.

“Think they’ll be okay?” she murmurs softly as they walk down the hallway, “‘cause I have some reservations about leaving those three alone in such close proximity.”

Kyle snorts. “It’s a terrible idea,” he says, shrugging, “but I’m kinda hoping they’ll finally _talk_ about everything that’s happened. I figure Craig almost dying will be a pretty good catalyst for them to finally get their goddamn shit together.”

“Or Craig _almost_ dying will lead to someone _actually_ dying,” Wendy points out, wrinkling her nose as a mournful expression flits across her face, “again.”

Kyle pauses as they reach the door. “I don’t think they’ll actually kill each other,” he says, but his tone is uncertain and wary.

Wendy arches a brow. “Are you trying to convince me,” she says wryly, “or _yourself_?”

Kyle blinks.

“No one else is gonna die tonight,” he says, more firmly. He pulls on the door handle and braces himself as the snowy winds bluster inside, “I hope,” he mutters under his breath.

“I heard that,” Wendy trills, shaking her head, “oh _god_. Butters is dead – can you believe that? Someone _killed_ him? Like, who would want to _kill_ Butters?”

Kyle shrugs, feeling his heart shatter all over again.

“I don’t know,” he says, pained and frustrated, “Butters is – fuck, _was_ – a pretty harmless dude, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him get _violent_ or even _angry_. Well, angry at anyone apart from Cartman, but that doesn’t really count.”

“What about that Hawaii-thing?” Wendy asks, shivering in the winter weather, “or the Meninist-thing?”

“Oh, so you think the guy deserved to get fucking murdered over that shit?” Kyle asks, feeling oddly disappointed by Wendy’s judgemental tone. In response, the brunette holds up her hands and frowns faintly.

“No, no,” she objects quickly, shaking her head, “I just. I. I don’t really know what point I was making. But… you’re right, I guess. He _was_ only ten when he did that shit – he got better as he grew up. I think. Oh wow, I’m really going to miss him.” Wendy pauses, worries her lip and glances up at the starry sky. “You know, he used to come to our sleepovers in drag as Marjorine and let us play makeovers with him. It was kinda fun, honestly. He stopped coming over around ninth grade and he refused to let us acknowledge him as Butters when he came over too… and he’d _never_ talk about it in school, either. I never really questioned it, ‘cause I was dealing with my own identity and. And now? Now I just think it’s _sad_. Like, I’ve missed this massive opportunity to _talk_ to him about gender and stuff, and now… now I never _will_.”

Kyle’s disappointment slowly fades until he’s left with nothing but numbing pain.

“I think,” he says slowly, mulling over his words carefully, “Butters had a lot of secrets… and I think. Regardless of what he was going through, I think you girls letting him join in on your sleepovers probably helped him out in some way. So… I don’t know, don’t feel bad? ‘Cause you probably did more good than anything else.”

Wendy sniffs and glances up at him.

“Yeah?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he confirms.

She looks. _Really_ pretty with snow falling in her face, decorating her dark hair and eyelashes with soft, white flakes. Her cheeks have grown red and the tip of her nose is pink and. And he really has to restrain himself from reaching out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Goddammit, what’s wrong with him?

“Come on,” he says, nodding towards the woods, “I can’t hear Cartman and Clyde, which probably doesn’t bode well for _anyone_.”

Wendy hums musingly and glances up at him.

“Hey,” she says as continues on, stalking through the backyard with determination, “think there are too many cooks in this kitchen?”

Kyle blinks and considers her question. “Want to separate Clyde and Cartman?” he asks, tilting his head, “before someone dies?”

“Absolutely,” she confirms, blowing out a wayward lock of her hair, “kinda sucks – I was looking forward to running around the woods with you.”

“Wha-What?” Kyle utters, wide-eyed and lost.

Wendy merely snickers as she winks at him.

It.

Honestly, it leaves him feeling more lost.

He forcibly puts a pin it though as they reach the hot tub; surprisingly, Cartman and Clyde are both still alive. They’re both waiting with a sullen silence bubbling between them. The soft snow crunches beneath Kyle’s boots as he approaches them; Cartman’s head snaps up as he hears them come near.

“Well, you took your fucking time,” he comments, rolling his eyes irritably.

“Can it,” Kyle barks out before he glances out to the woods.

It’s completely silent, bar the whispering wind which curls around them. The snow still floats down from the sky – for a moment, Kyle is tricked into a sense of false security. The mountains around them are so serene and quiet… it’s almost crazy to think that. That one of his friends has just.

Has just fucking.

 _Pin it, dude_ , Ike whispers.

“So, we’re like… going into the woods now?” Clyde asks, shoving his hands into his pockets as he gazes at the trees with undisguised fear in his eyes, “that’s a thing we’re doing, yeah?”

“Well, you are,” Kyle corrects him, with an arched brow, “Wendy reckons there’s too many of us and I’m inclined to agree with her.”

“Oh, you’re inclined, are you?” Cartman asks, squinting at him suspiciously.

“Shut up asshole – anyway, Clyde and Wendy, you check out the weird noises, okay?” Kyle orders. Wendy nods and Clyde blanches as if recoiling from Kyle’s suggestion.

“Well, what the fuck are _we_ supposed to do?” Cartman asks, his lips upturned as he shoots an unimpressed look in Kyle’s direction, “I ain’t going back into the lounge with Tweek and fucking _Craig_. And Kenny’s given himself a time-out, so now what?”

Kyle falters as he tries to find an answer to Cartman’s questions. Fuck, Stan and Jimmy have the bedroom covered and no one wants to go near the shed, so like. Where else could they go on this whole fucking mountain? Kyle inwardly sighs because he’s suddenly aware that he’s practically babysitting the fucker, keeping the guy away from their other friends and making sure he doesn’t get… into… any shit… Kyle blinks and grins, inspiration hitting him outta nowhere.

“The freezer,” he says, turning to the brunet eagerly.

“The freezer?” Cartman echoes in disbelief, “the fucking _freezer_?”

“Yeah, Butters… he, uh, he was super weird about us not going into the freezer earlier,” Kyle rambles quickly, his pulse flickering as he remembers how… _happy_ Butters had been when Kyle had first arrived mere hours earlier, “I mean, it’s a given, right – that we don’t dick around in the freezer? So why would he make an effort to remind us to not go into it?”

There’s a small beat of silence and Kyle grimaces when his Imaginary Ike snorts, _I hope you stretched before making that reach_.

Fuck though, it’s not like there’s anything else.

“Holy shit, you think there are dead bodies in it?” Cartman asks, his eyes lighting up eagerly.

“Well. Maybe _not_ dead bodies, but something?” Kyle replies, unnerved as he inches away slightly.

“Dude. You are all about the stretches today.”

“Just, come with me, okay?”

“Urgh, fine.”

Wendy watches their exchange and shoots Kyle a sympathetic look.

“Good luck with _that_ ,” she says before she begins her trek into the woods. Kyle watches as she leaves, her short hair dancing behind her as she waltzes away. Clyde sighs heavily and begins to follow her but pauses and faces Kyle again.

“I don’t really want to do this,” he whines, pouting heavily, “can’t I go hunt in the freezer instead?”

Kyle’s patience grows thin as he stalks up to Clyde.

“You _know_ Cartman and Wendy’s a bad fucking combination dude, so you’re gonna go help her out. And listen dude, I didn’t want to have to say this, but if she gets hurt out there, then it isn’t _Stan_ you have to worry about,” he says in warning, leaning in close.

“Why, ‘cause it’s you?” Clyde says snidely, arching a brow – goddammit, his attitude really is starting to grate on Kyle’s nerves and. And he isn’t gonna hit the guy, ‘cause that would make him a hypocrite, but fuck.

He would _love_ to just.

Fucking.

 _Urgh_.

Instead, Kyle quells his frustration and snorts dismissively, folding his arms. “Nope,” he says, with a gleeful pop, “it’s _Bebe_. And I don’t think that tattoo around your wrist will save you should you get her best friend killed.”

Clyde blinks.

Realisation hits him and his face pales significantly.

“Oh shit,” he mutters, before he turns on his heel and chases after Wendy, “hey, Wendy! Wait up!”

Kyle watches as Clyde chases after Wendy and leaves him.

There’s a small beat before he realises what has happened.

Wincing, he braces himself and turns – sure enough, Cartman is grinning at him, hands shoved into his pockets as he rocks on his heels. Kyle groans and resigns himself to a very painful, irritating future, complete with exercising some major restraint and small spaces.

Fuck.

“ _Aye_ , don’t fucking complain, bitch,” Cartman spits, his shit-eating smirk melting away to an annoyed scowl, “you should feel honoured by buddying up with me to break into the freezer. I’m a goddamn delight to hunt with!”

Kyle rolls his eyes and shivers – it’s fucking cold outside and goddammit, he’s too tired to even bother arguing with the fat bastard.

“Alright fine,” he concedes, “but we’re not literally breaking anything, got it? On the off-chance that Uncle Budd _isn’t_ the psycho behind all of this, then I don’t want to risk making him any angrier by fucking with his shit.”

 _Yeah, you already got his nephew killed_ , Imaginary Ike snipes at him.

Kyle almost gags in response.

“Wow Kyle, way to suck all the fun outta this shit-fest, I mean, _fuck_ Uncle Budd, who cares about his fucking feelings? Come on, let’s wreck his shit and find some bodies,” Cartman asks, waltzing past Kyle with a sharp smirk. Kyle watches him disappear into the house and he is truly shocked by the level of audacity that the asshole is showing.

“Dude, we’re _not_ wrecking anything!” he demands hotly, “Cartman, are you listening to me?”

Cartman’s head pops back around the corner, an unimpressed frown on his face.

“ _Kyle_!” he grits out, narrowing his eyes pointedly, “we’re wasting time, let’s go!”

Then he disappears again.

Throwing his head back, Kyle sighs and feels incredibly fucking exhausted.

He hears Imaginary Ike imitate the sound of a whip in his head again, and… and..

 _Fuck_.

“Goddammit,” he mutters. He takes one step towards the lodge but pauses. It’s fucking cold outside and it’ll only be colder in the fucking freezer. He bites his lip and knows he needs to grab a coat – it sucks that he left his in Stan’s room, but luckily for him, there’s two by the hot tub. He hums thoughtfully as his hand hovers over his options.

Fuck, which one should he take?

* * *

**NICHOLE CHOSE TO GO AFTER TOKEN**

**1.32AM**

Nichole dashes back into the cabin, grabs her belt and boots and _runs_.

She slips her foot into one boot, hops to get the other one on and then she _runs_.

She isn’t sure how much time she’s wasted just getting dressed, but now all that matters is getting back to him and _fast_. She’s not the quickest cheerleader, but her reflexes are unmatched – Nichole can duck under the wayward branches and vault over fallen logs with no problem.

But… _is she fast enough_?

It haunts her.

Just the idea of being too late, of reaching Token and he’s—

Fuck.

It wounds her something deep.

“ _Nichole! Help me! Please_!”

His cries for help echo around the woods, haunting her, beckoning her.

She runs faster.

The woods grow thicker and darker as she ventures further – she’s _never_ been this way before. She doesn’t think any of her friends have gone this deep into the woods. They’ve only ever hung out in the lodge, only leaving to fetch firewood from the shed or to return to the cable cart. It’s completely unchartered territory and, not for the first time that night, fear sparks in Nichole’s heart. She sprints through the snow, soaking her jeans and. And fuck, she forgot her jacket.

Goddammit, it’s so fucking cold, but the adrenaline keeps her going.

Token keeps her going.

“ _Nichole! Oh god, Nichole_!”

She spurs herself on, her lungs burning as she continues on, running after the echoes of Token’s voice. If he’s screaming, then he’s alive, right? She holds onto that thought as she chases after her boyfriend – the more he screams, the faster she runs, the more hope she has of catching up to him.

She isn’t entirely sure of what took him.

Nor is she entirely sure of her plans once she catches up to it and her boyfriend.

She just… really wants Token back.

So, she runs.

It hurts – her legs are _screaming_ at her, the muscles crying out for a break, but she’s not giving herself even a moment of rest. She needs all the seconds the world has to offer her, so she fucking _runs_. The wind whips around her and her cheeks are frozen with snowflakes, but nothing can stop her now.

As she feels her body physically begin to burn out, she bursts out into a clearing which leads to an overlook. There are clear marks in the snow from where Token’s been dragged, and Nichole follows them to the edge of the overlook. She quickly scans the bottom of the overlook and— _there_!

There’s a wooden shack built into the side of the mountain, the door swinging open and shut.

Nichole swallows and casts a secondary glance, but… but the deep scores in the snow lead towards the door. Token _must_ be in there; he _has_ to be in there. She peers over the ledge and sits down, wrinkling her nose when her jeans are instantly soaked – she shuffles to the edge and swings her legs over.

It.

It doesn’t seem very safe.

“ _Nichole_!”

Fuck it.

Nichole holds her breath and pushes herself over the edge, sliding down the side of the cliff faster than she had anticipated. She curses and cries out when a wayward branch catches her painfully on the thigh – fuck, this was a dumb idea…

“ _Babe! Help, please_!”

Nope.

This was a great idea, the best idea.

Nichole falls to the bottom of the overlook sharply – it winds her, leaves her dizzy for a moment, but she can’t allow herself to linger. She forces herself back to her feet and stumbles towards the door. Her head is killing her and her thigh stings, but she dashes towards the entrance of what looks like… a mine?

There’s goddamn mines up here?

Fuck, no. She can’t get distracted; she can’t think about anything but—

“ _Help me_!”

—Token!

“I’m coming babe, I’m coming!” she calls out as she bursts through the door.

It’s dark, really dark and her lungs burn as she breathes in the dusty air. Spluttering, Nichole pulls her torch free from her belt and flicks it on. She’s stood in a mine… fuck. Okay, she can do this. She quickly makes her way down the tunnel, wincing when her thigh twinges with pain.

It’s minimal though, has to be minimal, compared to what Token could be enduring.

So, she quickens her pace and quells the panic which rises in her heart.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants under her breath as she reaches a large cavern. Unlit torches line the walls and there’s an elevator shaft situated in the middle of it. She flashes her torch over to it and—oh, _fuck_.

 _There’s a body_.

She can _see_ a body and before she can really think her about her actions, she’s vaulting to the bottom of the cavern. She gasps out a curse as she falls to her feet, her thigh twinging as her weight falls upon it. But that’s nothing. It’s really nothing, so she gets up quickly and scrambles to the body resting atop the debris. It’s still, it’s covered in dust and blood, it’s. Oh _god_ , it’s.

It’s.

 _Token_.

“Oh babe,” Nichole says, hushed and gentle, “oh, _god_.”

Her hands hover over Token’s broken form – he’s littered in bruises and cuts, and she doesn’t even know where to start. His handsome face, so striking and sharp, is purple and swollen… his stud is missing, there’s just a heavily bleeding gap in his nose and. And he’s such a _beautiful_ sight to behold, ‘cause. ‘Cause, oh fuck, ‘cause he’s _alive_! Nichole’s eyes widen as Token’s body suddenly jerks upwards; he chokes out a breath with spittle flying from his mouth as his eyes snap open. Nichole feels relief sweep over her as she gasps out a short laugh.

“Hey, Token?” she calls out, sweetly soft, “can you hear me? It’s Nichole, oh god, you’re safe. I’m here, baby, you’re okay now…”

She gets a single moment where Token’s golden-brown eyes meet hers… and then it’s gone. The mine shaft elevator creeks, something _snaps,_ and with a sickening quickness, Token is falling away from her.

“Token, no!” she screams, reaching downwards as if she could save him, catch him, bring him back to her again…

But he falls.

Out of her grasp.

Out of her sight.

He falls and Nichole loses him once again.

“Goddammit,” she curses, slamming her hands down on the metal frame of the shaft – pain pierces through her palms and travels up to her shoulders. She winces and sits back, biting back her sobs as her heart is torn from her chest. She hears a sickening thud echoing up the elevator shaft and she just. She just _knows_.

She’s lost Token.

She’s. She’s _lost_ him.

Fuck – what are the odds of him even surviving a drop like that? It sounded so far away and Token, god, he looked so _fragile_ when she found him and. And god, could _anyone_ have survived something like that?

A mournful whine emits from her throat as she throws her head back, her eyes clenched as pain wracks her body. She’s _lost_ the love of her goddamn life and now she’s stuck in a goddamn mine. Fuck. Fuck, how did he even fall? Nichole’s eyes flick open as she gazes upwards; she can’t see the top of the shaft and it. It frustrates her, ‘cause _something_ had to have caused the elevator to drop.

Right?

It couldn’t have just _dropped_ by itself.

Nichole bites back a curse as she peers up into the darkness – she can’t see anything, but then she hears a strange noise and she strains herself to get a better angle.

 _There_ , at the top of the wooden elevator shaft, is a figure. It’s shadowed and unrecognisable, honestly, it’s not much more than a grey blur, but it’s _something_. Nichole squints hard—

“Got a death wish, huh?” she calls out, burning hatred dripping from her words, “don’t mind me granting it then?”

—but it’s gone before she can really make out any kind of discernable shape or feature.

Spitting out a curse, she allows her anger to fuel her as she gives chase.

Whoever that fucker was, they were gonna _pay_.

* * *

**2.07AM**

Tweek has honestly never felt such unforgiving fury before – he’s been _mad_ , sure, but this?

This is engulfing.

He stands there in front of Kenny, watching as the guy falters in front of them. Everyone else leaves, with Clyde lingering long enough to wrap Craig up in his arms one last time. Then he disappears out of the room and Tweek just waits. Just waits for Kenny to leave so he can finally feel comfortable again, so he can find his balance, ‘cause right now he’s totally off-kilter.

He needs his peace and he can’t. He can’t get it right now.

His happy place doesn’t exist – the sweeping landscapes, serene breezes and soft water waves have all been replaced by a maelstrom of destruction, chaos and ruin. Thunder and lightning take over and it’s almost like Wonder Tweek is back in the room… except he isn’t Mysterion’s ally this time.

He’s his harbinger of fucking _doom_.

Kenny looks at him, looks at Craig, then falters. Tweek can _see_ the cogs turning in Kenny’s brain, like he’s testing how far he can push it, how far he can push _Tweek_. And Tweek? Tweek just wants him to try it, to _dare_ try and talk to Craig.

See where that gets him.

And then.

Then Kenny does.

The blond takes an aborted step towards Craig and Tweek is suddenly there, protecting his fiancé from the man who _didn’t_ want to save him.

“Don’t you come near him!” he hisses, keeping Craig firmly out of Kenny’s line of vision. His fiancé is curled up on the sofa, quiet tears rolling down his face – even like this, traumatised and in shock, Craig is silent in his distress and it just.

It _hurts_ to see.

Tweek can’t bear the sight of it, but he refuses to let Kenny see the effects of his awful, cruel, downright stupid actions – and yeah, _okay_ , absently Tweek is aware of the horrible choice Kenny had to make, but that fact doesn’t make him feel any better. Kenny still had the chance to pick Craig and he didn’t. He chose Butters and _oh god_ , if Kenny hadn’t made his mistake, then. Then Craig would be. He would.

Tweek wouldn’t _have_.

Fuck.

He can’t. He’s too angry.

“I’m sorry!” Kenny begs, face ashen as tears gather in his bloodshot eyes; Tweek has never seen the blond like this before and honestly, if he wasn’t so _mad_ , he’d be completely freaked out, “I just panicked, I couldn’t– I didn’t know what to do– I just—”

“Just… shut up!” Tweek shrieks, and he’s twitching and shaking, and he _hates_ that this asshole has reduced him to this, but he can’t. Can’t fucking. Stop. He’s just… he’s so… he’s completely overwhelmed with his own feelings and he can’t really detach himself from his own raging fury.

“I’m sorry Tweek, I swear,” Kenny carries on, trying to inch his way around the blond, but Tweek quickly obstructs the way, indignant incredulity flooding his veins like fire, “please, let me just talk to him–”

“You,” Tweek spits out, like venom, like _acid_ , like he wants his words to burn and scar and to _never_ leave Kenny’s memory ever again, “are never going near him again. Stay away from him, stay away from me, or I _swear_ —”

Kenny blanches, recoils and Tweek is grimly satisfied to see the fear in Kenny’s eyes. He doesn’t want this asshole looking at Craig, talking to Craig, _thinking_ about Craig – Tweek has a black belt in kickboxing and he really doesn’t mind demonstrating how he got it.

He inches closer to Kenny, and a sick pleasure builds in his gut when the asshole flinches away from him.

“—I _will_ kill you,” he finishes, fists clenched and body trembling with rage, “don’t think I won’t, because I will.”

Kenny opens his mouth, then closes it – his lilac eyes blur with agony and tears, but Tweek hardens his heart against the sight. He knows, deep down, that Kenny isn’t completely at fault, but. But his mind isn’t operating on fucking _logic_ , it never really has, and it never really will. Tweek doesn’t follow his head, he follows his heart and right now? His heart is screaming at him to protect, protect, _protect_.

He squares his shoulders as he inches further in front of Craig – Kenny’s eyes drift towards his hidden fiancé and then. Then he slumps, resignation and heartbreak fluttering across his features. Kenny gives Tweek a single jerky nod before he turns on his heel and leaves.

“I’ll,” he utters, soft in the echoing silence, “go check on the doors and windows.”

Then he leaves.

He leaves and he doesn’t look back.

Tweek feels like he can breathe for the first time in hours, but his body is still vibrating and shaking with unchecked energy. His fingers twist the ring around his finger as he tries to focus on the cool feel of the metal. He feels so distorted and ungrounded, but he finds he can’t. He can’t ground himself. His centre is off-balance, his happy place is a _nightmare_ , and… and…

 _And what would Buddha do?_ Tweek thinks, desperate to find some semblance of serenity in the chaos that surrounds him, some guidance, some way of righting just how wrong this situation is. He closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing and tries to find the answer to his question, but.

Well.

To be honest, he knows exactly what Buddha would do.

_Every man is a river, continuously flowing and changing – who I was five minutes ago is not who I am now. I have changed, Kenny has changed. I can bear no grudge against him… I. I should bear no ill will towards. He isn’t. River. Flowing. No grudge. Fuck._

_Fuck._

_Fuck._

_I can._

_I can forgive—_

Tweek trembles and bites his lip – copper bursts onto his tongue and he finds that. That he can’t. He is not a fucking river, he is a goddamn tempest, roaring and raging. He can’t forgive Kenny – Buddha’s teachings have no place here, not when Craig had been _this_ close to dying.

Not when he had been _this_ close to losing the only person who understands him and supports him, unconditionally.

 _Forgive Kenny?_ Buddha asks.

 _Fuck that,_ Tweek replies, his eyes flashing open as he glares at the doorway that Kenny had disappeared out of, _he tried to kill him, he tried to kill him, he tried to kill him_.

He’s not sure what he’s gonna do when he sees Kenny again – if there really is a killer, and oh fucking god, there’s a fucking killer on the mountain, someone who _tried to kill his Craig_ , then. Then. Then he’s gonna be stuck inside this lodge with Kenny and everyone else for two more days. Then it’s back to South Park. Where. Where Kenny will be _again_ , ‘cause he deferred a year and Tweek still isn’t sure if he’s confident enough, ready enough, _fucking rich enough_ , to go to Julliard.

Fuck.

He’s gonna just. Have to. _Fuck_.

He’s gonna be such a hypocrite – he had lectured Craig on confronting the issue head-on, but. But Tweek wants to do nothing more but avoid Kenny for the rest of his life. Which will be hard, considering Karen and Tricia are best friends… and, well. He is still friends with Stan and Kyle, so. So, he will eventually bump into Kenny again.

Maybe. Maybe he’ll be a better Buddhist by then.

Maybe he’ll be able to forgive and forget.

Maybe—

 _No_.

Tweek flinches when Craig sniffs behind him, choking down quiet sobs. He quells his bubbling rage towards Kenny and turns to find Craig curled up on the sofa, his blanket pulled tight around his body. Tweek’s heart shatters when he takes in the broken form of his fiancé and he _knows_ , just fucking _knows_ , that it will take a lot for him to even contemplate forgiving Kenny McCormick.

Even if an asshole forced his hand, he still chose Butters over Craig.

He still made that choice.

And yeah, Tweek is. His head is a little all over the place and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t really digested Butters’ death yet—

_Oh god, Butters is dead, his friend is dead, someone tried to kill Craig, is someone gonna come after him still, will they come after all his friends, are they gonna die, Butters died, oh god, the blood is on Craig, all over Craig, he wants his mom, they need to lock the doors, where’s his mom, he wants his mom, did Butters cry for his mom, oh fuck, oh Jesus, oh god, oh god, ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod!_

—‘cause. ‘Cause he _liked_ Butters – they used to bond over their shitty parents whilst they were younger, and it had been _so_ nice having someone who could relate to him. Yeah, most parents are awful in South Park, but _no one_ has parents quite like Tweek Tweak and Butters Stotch.

Fuck.

Okay.

 _Comfort now, panic later_ , Tweek thinks, cursing his body for shaking so much. He takes several deep breaths, decides to react to Butters’ death at a more suitable time later and focuses his energy on Craig.

“Hey Craig,” he says soft and sweet, crouching in front of his trembling fiancé, “Craig, _look at me_.”

Tweek watches as Craig slowly lifts his head, his dark blue eyes full of pain and sorrow. His heart lurches and he wraps his hands around Craig’s shaking fists. His fiancé leans into the touch, then leans further until his forehead rests against Tweek’s, their noses brushing softly together. Tweek lets him have this moment, lets him gain some semblance of peace… ‘cause it’s not going to last. It’s just the calm before the storm, ‘cause.

‘Cause well.

“You’re okay,” Tweek murmurs gently, cooing as he strokes Craig’s frozen skin, “I’m here, no one’s gonna touch you again. No one is gonna hurt you man, I’m here for you.”

Craig clings back, desperate and tight, clearly soaking up Tweek’s protective aura, his affection, his love…

But then he starts to speak.

And _goddamn_ – the words he says.

“He didn’t pick me,” Craig croaks out, tears trickling down his cheeks. It’s a devastating sight to see, but his words. _Goddamn_ , his words. “I thought he…? How can he say that he...? And then he doesn’t even _choose_ me? God, I almost died Tweek… I thought I’d never see _you_ again, fuck.”

They hurt in a different way and Tweek? Is kinda… sorta _over_ Kenny McCormick’s presence in his relationship. He hushes Craig and promises him that he’ll never have to experience that terror again, but. But fuck, Tweek can’t get Craig’s wounded tone out of his mind. Jesus, fuck – Craig is really hurt by Kenny’s choice and yeah, okay, Tweek _gets_ it. But. But… but he seems more upset than Tweek is really comfortable with, and.

And.

Okay, he probably should wait for a better moment, but there’s no time _quite_ like the present and honestly?

Tweek is done with secrets.

He’s done with half-truths.

He’s _done_.

“Hey handsome,” Tweek murmurs, nudging Craig’s cold, wet cheek with his nose as he whispers to him, soft and sweet and lulling; he does everything he can to ignore the blood which stains Craig’s frosted skin, “this is probably the worst timing ever, but—”

_It needs to be done._

“—we need to talk.”

Craig freezes and then jolts away, his face a picture of devastation and horror.

“Honey, what are you—”

“I’m _not_ breaking up with you,” Tweek interrupts, pressing a hand to Craig’s face – fuck, he probably should’ve picked a better phrase, but… it’s true, they _really_ need to talk, “but I’m not letting you lie to me anymore.”

Craig blinks, pales and cocks his head.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asks, his tone carefully neutral.

Tweek hums, tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and shifts his stance, until he’s on his knees in front of the guy he loves, _adores_ , most in this world. He levels Craig with a look so serious, it has his fiancé trembling in his grip. He’s not sure what will happen to their relationship, but he knows that it all depends on what Craig says next.

“Everything,” he says, shrugging, rubbing a thumb over Craig’s engagement ring, “but let’s start with last year, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CLYDE AND TWEEK NO LONGER TRUST KENNY**
> 
> ****CARTMAN’S MENTAL HEALTH IS DECLINING** **
> 
> ******NICHOLE GOT TO TOKEN IN TIME AND FOUND HIM ALIVE  
>  **SHE HAS LOST TOKEN AGAIN BUT SAW WHO TOOK HIM**** ** **
> 
> **********THE GROUP HAS SPLIT UP AND SUSPECT UNCLE BUDD IS BEHIND EVERYTHING** ** ** ** **
> 
> ************~~KYLE IS GETTING COLD AND NEEDS A COAT – WHICH ONE SHOULD HE GRAB?~~   
>  **~~\- THE RED ONE~~   
>  **~~\- THE YELLOW ONE~~ ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> ******************~~IT’S TIME FOR CRAIG AND TWEEK TO TALK ABOUT LAST YEAR – HOW SHOULD CRAIG PROCEED?~~   
>  **~~\- BE TRUTHFUL – CRAIG WILL BE BRUTULLY HONEST, WHICH MAY HURT TWEEK~~   
>  **~~\- BE TACTFUL – CRAIG MAY OMIT SOME DETAILS, BUT IT’S TO PROTECT TWEEK~~ ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> ************************YOU HAVE MADE YOUR CHOICE** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **


	11. ACT ONE: Kyle VII | Stan I | Wendy II | Craig IV

**KYLE TOOK THE RED COAT**

**2.14AM**

Goddammit, it’s too fucking cold to be this indecisive.

Kyle glances at the mustard coat, his hand hovering over it; he looks good in yellow, _Stan’s_ told him as much, but. But the red one looks so much warmer – it’s thick, made of maroon-coloured leather and Kyle recognises it, he _knows_ he’s seen this jacket before, he just can’t remember where. Whatever, it’s big and he’s cold, so fuck it. He snatches it up and slips it on – he’s almost surprised by how much it weighs, but he almost purrs at how fucking warm it is.

Fuck, it’s so goddamn big on him, but Kyle really doesn’t give a shit.

He wraps his arms around himself and follows after Cartman, a series of dark curses falling from his lips.

He ducks back into the lodge and finds the brunet leaning against the corridor wall, checking over his nails with an unimpressed expression on his face. Christ, Kyle _only_ took two minutes, tops – asshole needs to learn to be more fucking patient.

“Alright, let’s go investigate shit,” Kyle sighs, tugging the coat further across his body. He pauses when the brunet peers over at him and freezes, his heterochromatic eyes widening as they slowly scan his form. Kyle swallows and feels… _scrutinised_ , like Cartman’s gaze is peeling back all his layers and. Well. He’s not entirely sure he _wants_ Cartman to see that deeply into him. 

Like.

Ever.

“Dude, _what_?” he demands hotly, feeling incredibly self-conscious.

Cartman blinks slowly before his lips curl up into a wicked smile.

“Nothing,” he says simply, which is bullshit, ‘cause there’s _nothing_ simple about Eric Cartman, “you just look good in my jacket, that’s all.”

Kyle gapes, feels his mind grow all cloudy and light as his cheeks grow hot – he glances down at his body, and sure enough, he’s wearing Cartman’s jacket. Fuck, why hadn’t he recognised the fucking coat, goddammit? No wonder it’s so goddamn big on him and— wait. He looks… good in it?

He glances up, feeling almost shy when he sees the intensity in Cartman’s eyes. Kyle shivers under the stare and bites his lip, tearing his gaze away to look at some dumb stuffed fox, mounted on the wall. God, Uncle Budd has some _major_ fucking issues.

Like, he’s clearly compensating for _something_ with all these dead animals – the less said about his relationship with Butters, the better.

“Kyle?”

Oh fuck, yeah.

“Sorry dude, you want it back?” Kyle asks, flushing as he moves to shrug the jacket off.

“Nah bro, it’s all cool,” Cartman says lazily, his eyes growing heavy-lidded as they drift over Kyle’s body again, “I’m kinda surprised a ginger like you can pull it off.”

Every floaty feeling in Kyle’s body instantly evaporates.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“That’s fair – just don’t get blood on the jacket, okay? It’s _designer_.”

Kyle scoffs and kicks out at Cartman’s ankle – regardless, he shifts the jacket back over his shoulders and makes his way towards the kitchen. His companion is oddly silent as they wander down the hallway, making their way back into the lounge.

Craig and Tweek are huddled together against the couch – Tweek’s face looks solemn, Craig’s is frantic with urgent despair and their voices are too low for anyone else to hear.

Kyle doesn’t linger long.

Whatever they’re talking about looks crazy intense and private; honestly, Kyle can only think that it’s high time they finally confronted the skeletons in Craig’s closet. Like Christ, it’s been two years since Craig and Kenny kissed and _now_ they’re finally hashing shit out?

Fuck, if it had been him, he definitely would’ve gone insane from the amount of secrecy in his relationship.

“Dude, wanna bet on Craig and Tweek breaking up?” Cartman asks eagerly as they enter the kitchen.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Kyle says, throwing the brunet a stern look as he approaches the freezer.

“What?” Cartman asks with a shrug, “South Park’s local sweethearts are about to ruin everyone’s faith in love – how could you not want to make bank on that shit?”

“They’re not going to break up,” Kyle says, and he’s pretty confident that they won’t – at least, not permanently, Jesus they’re fucking _engaged_ , “and if they do, then you better believe the town will out for your blood.”

“ _My_ blood?”

“Yeah, your fucking blood,” Kyle confirms irritably, “‘cause this is all thanks to your dumb fucking prank which got us all into this mess!”

“Kyle! How can you say that?” Cartman asks, a touch outraged, “I mean, technically was it my prank? Yeah, it was. Was it my idea? No, it fucking wasn’t!”

“Don’t even start with blaming Clyde, dude.”

“Look, if he hadn’t started that bullshit ‘good Samaritan’ agenda, then I wouldn’t have—”

“You shouldn’t have done _anything_!”

“Hey, if I had known that Butters would’ve… that he… I wouldn’t have— fuck!”

Kyle watches as Cartman rages and sighs, before turning back to the freezer.

“I’m just saying, that’s all,” he says, trying to pull the door open, “like it or not dude, you had a hand in this sorry fucking mess.”

Cartman is suspiciously quiet, which doesn’t bode well for anyone – it unnerves Kyle enough that he glances over his shoulder and is totally confused when he sees Cartman’s face crumple as he rubs at his stomach.

“Dude?” Kyle prompts, cocking his head.

“Oh man, something’s wrong,” he says, his tone bordering on a heavy moan, “I feel really… sick, like. All in this area.” He gestures to his solar plexus and Kyle arches a brow.

“Maybe you feel sick,” he contemplates dryly, “‘cause you know you messed up. Maybe it’s guilt?”

Cartman blinks, then slowly shakes his head. “No,” he drawls, “I’m pretty sure it was Jimmy’s fucked up cocktail – yep, it was definitely the cocktail.”

“Okay well,” Kyle rolls his eyes, kicking at the freezer door, “feel free to admit you actually feel shit whenever, instead of keeping up this sociopathic bullshit mask of yours.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cartman brushes him off, before quirking a brow pointedly at the freezer, “thought you were gonna open this?”

“I can’t,” Kyle sighs, throwing a hand at it, “it’s stuck or locked.”

Cartman hums and then considers the door with a critical look.

“Let’s break it,” he declares. Kyle blinks at him before he sighs and kicks Cartman’s shin. The brunet yelps, clutches at his leg and scowls up at Kyle, “what the fuck Kyle?” he demands.

“What the hell did I say?” Kyle asks, cocking his head, “we’re not _breaking_ anything!”

“Come on Kyle, you’re the one who wanted to explore the goddamn freezer,” he says, thrusting a finger towards the door handle, “so let’s bust this fucker open.”

“But Uncle Budd—”

“ _Fuck_. Uncle. Budd,” Cartman grits out and, well.

Kyle can’t exactly argue with that – besides, if there _is_ something in the freezer which is incriminating, then… well, fuck Uncle Budd. If there isn’t and the dude is totally innocent, then. Well. That’s pretty unlikely honestly, so.

So.

So, fuck Uncle Budd.

“Alright,” he concedes before he peers around the kitchen and heads towards the nearest drawers. He opens them, wrinkles his nose at all the dish towels and closes it again. Opens the next one. Doilies. Tries the next one. Goddammit, who needs this many doilies? Not even his mom has drawers dedicated to useless lace napkins.

“What are you looking for?” Cartman asks, arching a brow.

“You want to break open the door?” Kyle asks rhetorically, opening another drawer and feeling victorious as he lays his eyes on all the kitchen utensils, “let’s open the fucking door.”

He picks up a meat tenderiser and weighs it in his hand, throws it in the air a couple of times and then teasingly wiggles it at Cartman. The brunet has an unreadable expression in his eyes, but he’s gazing at Kyle with a tiny furrow between his brows – it’s like Kyle is some weird puzzle and Cartman just can’t quite figure him out.

Kyle finds.

That he kinda… _likes_ being a puzzle that Cartman can’t solve.

He smiles as he twirls the tenderiser around his fingers, his smirk sharpening when Cartman’s eyes flicker with, with _heat_. The blue-brown mix burns with violet-scarlet and Kyle feels his gut flipflop pleasantly as the tension thickens.

The moment is abruptly ruined when he drops the tenderiser on his foot though.

“Fuck,” he gasps, wincing as tears burst into his eyes; he ducks down and clutches at his ankle, throwing Cartman a sour look when the brunet bursts into deep guffaws, pointing at him as he laughs, “fuck off Cartman!”

“You thought you were such hot shit!” Cartman chortles loudly.

“Dude, shut up!” Kyle demands, scooping up the tenderiser before rising to his feet again. He wrinkles his nose at the pain which flares from his toes, but he grits his teeth and bears it, “stop it before I shove this up your ass!”

Cartman’s laugh slowly dies down, but his mirth is still clear as he gazes up at Kyle. Despite being shorter, Cartman still has this weird _presence_ which makes him bigger in life. Well, the girth probably helps with that too…

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Cartman sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets as Kyle scowls and elbows him out of the way. Surprisingly, the brunet easily moves, holding up his hands in a silent surrender.

“You’re such an asshole,” Kyle mutters, before raising the tenderiser above the handle. He’s pretty sure this is going to work… he’s seen it on a movie once, so. So, it’s gotta work, right? He bites his lip and brings the tenderiser down, wincing at the awful noise it makes.

It doesn’t… really do anything.

He hears Cartman snort, but his pride truly won’t let him admit defeat right now.

So, he tries again. And again. And again.

And holy shit, this feels therapeutic as _fuck_ – he’s a little mad his therapist didn’t recommend this shit to him, like _fuck_ counting to ten, Christ. Cartman watches, oddly silent, as Kyle continues his crusade against the door handle and. It feels.

Like he’s being scrutinised.

Like every hair on Kyle’s neck prickles up.

Every atom of his being is slowly tuning into the fact that Cartman is _just fucking watching him_.

It honestly unnerves him and so does the weird tense silence which builds between them.

So.

So.

“Do you blame Kenny for what happened? Like, are you mad at him at all?” he asks curiously, unable to take the weird vibes between them anymore as he smacks the tenderiser against the door handle. It makes a loud _clang_ again, but Kyle is pretty sure he’s made a dent this time.

Like… 34% sure.

“Dude, the fuck would I be mad at Kenny for?” Cartman asks, and he honestly looks utterly confused, “seriously, I haven’t been mad at Kenny in _months_ – pretty sure the last time we fell out was ‘cause he had the audacity to say that Pearl Liaison was the best Drag Queen on RuPaul.”

“Uh, what?”

“Of course, he was totally wrong – everyone knows that Trinity The Tuck is the best queen, Kenny has no fucking taste.”

“ _What_?”

“Oh _god_ ,” Cartman chokes out mournfully and Kyle honestly cannot tell if he’s even genuinely upset, “Butters liked Bob The Drag Queen, Jesus Christ, he was the only reason I even forgave Kenny for his shitty opinions – asshole got on his soapbox and wouldn’t stop yelling at me until I started talking to Kenny again!”

“Dude,” Kyle utters, bewildered, “can we… like, get back on track please?”

Cartman purses his lips, glaring at Kyle – but he falls silent as he leans against the wall, watching sulkily as Kyle smacks at the handle with the tenderiser. Kyle feels his nape prickle as he works on destroying the freezer door and he throws the brunet an inquiring look – he pauses though, ‘cause he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Cartman look so pensive before.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his tone a touch knowing.

Cartman shrugs. “Maybe I am a _little_ mad at Kenny,” he admits begrudgingly, “like, who fucks up pulling a goddamn lever? There are only two ways it can go! I know he’s poor, but Jesus, couldn’t he afford a little goddamn _intelligence_? Fuck, Butters is _dead_!”

Kyle arches a brow, looks down at the tenderiser in his hands and holds it out to Cartman.

“Want to take your anger out on this handle?” he offers lightly, “instead of taking it out on Kenny later?”

Cartman blinks, a slow smile grows on his face and he snatches up the implement eagerly.

“Sweet,” he purrs, elbowing Kyle out of the way as he pulls his arm back. He swings the tenderiser down, again and again, gritting his teeth as small grunts of frustration escape him. Kyle watches, slightly unnerved but also kinda impressed. Cartman’s cheeks slowly grow pink from exertion, his eyes narrowed and clouded over slightly; his swings become more erratic, more aggressive, and… and honestly, it’s starting to concern Kyle – he considers taking the tenderiser back, but then there’s a loud _clang_ and the door handle falls neatly to the floor.

They both stare at it quietly.

The only noise to break the silence is Cartman’s soft pants and the muffled sounds of Craig and Tweek’s heated discussion from the other room.

It feels. Weirdly tense.

“Are _you_ mad at him?” Cartman suddenly asks, throwing the tenderiser over his shoulder carelessly.

“No,” Kyle says, quick and confident, “it was an honest mistake and… and as shitty as it sounds, he had to pick _someone_. I mean, it kinda sounds like both of them would’ve been killed if he hadn’t made a choice, so. I guess. I _can’t_ blame him. I don’t know what I would’ve done in his place, so. No, I don’t blame Kenny.”

Cartman nods, slowly digesting his words. “Cool,” he simply says, before he moves out of the way, “after you.”

Kyle squints at him as he approaches the door, ducking down to peek into the hole they’ve made and reaching in to pull the door open. It begins to budge.

“Since when have you been courteous?” Kyle asks, as he slowly tugs the door open.

“If there’s one thing horror movies have taught me,” Cartman replies, sternly as he wags a finger in Kyle’s face, “it’s _never_ be the guy who opens the door first.”

“Wow,” Kyle says dryly, “thanks.”

Shaking his head, he yanks the door open and peers inside—

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

—and is incredibly disappointed by what he finds.

The freezer is empty; it’s not even fucking on. Kyle steps inside the lukewarm box, feeling incredibly stupid and overwhelmingly irritated. Shaking his head, he places his hands on his hips and begins to pace in small, tight circles. He’s so fucking frustrated, ‘cause now he looks like an idiot, goading Cartman into checking out the dumb freezer with him, just ‘cause Butters told them not to mess around with it, and he doesn’t even know where to start with this… this…

Fuck!

_All of this!_

“Hey, Kyle,” Cartman drawls, peering around the freezer entrance with arched brows, “you okay, bro?”

Kyle scowls and ignores him.

Why is the fucking freezer empty? What happened to the supposed game? Why the hell would Butters tell them to stay away from it? Why was it fucking locked?

The questions fire around his mind as he stalks around the freezer, like a lion in a tiny enclosure.

Where’s the fucking meat? The goddamn _game_ that Uncle Budd hunts down? The reason why Butters had told him they needed to keep out of it?

“Kyle?” Cartman prods again, “hey, Kyle, are you ignoring me?”

So… so maybe Uncle Budd _did_ have something to hide then? Except, what could he hide in an empty freezer? What could possibly be… unless… maybe he locks Butters in here? After seeing his creepy-ass bedroom, Kyle wouldn’t put it past Uncle Budd to do sick shit like, like—

“Kyle! Don’t ignore me asshole!”

“Goddammit Cartman!” Kyle snaps, kicking at a freezer wall violently, “shut the fuck up!”

There’s a tiny beat of silence before he’s acutely aware of Cartman joining him in the freezer – he tenses, but the brunet doesn’t touch him or even acknowledge him. Instead, Cartman wanders towards the abused wall – he kicks at it too and the sound it makes…

Doesn’t sound normal.

At least, not for a _freezer_.

“What the fuck is that?” Kyle asks, reaching out to sharply rap upon the wall, “it sounds… hollow, right?”

“Dude,” Cartman utters, turning to him eagerly, “bet you $20 there’s a secret fucking entrance?”

Kyle rolls his eyes and feels along the wall, feeling intrigued when he finds that it’s not made of metal, not like any walk-in freezer he’s ever seen before. The wall is wood, painted silver with engraved patterns that imitate nuts and bolts, and as his fingers trace the grooves, he finds a small crevice carved into the wall. He reaches inside and feels his breath catch in his throat. His fingers curl around a latch, his eyes widening when he realises that, oh shit.

This is a secret fucking entrance.

“I didn’t fucking shake on that bet, so you don’t get my money,” Kyle warns Cartman as he flips the latch upwards – there’s a sharp _clickk_ before the wall shifts beneath his hand. He flicks a glance at Cartman and grins when he sees the put-out expression on the brunet’s face. “Problem?”

“Nope, no problem here,” Cartman says, despite pursing his lips, “but please notice how I’m refraining from making a single stereotypical comment right now?”

Kyle blinks.

“What, you want a fucking cookie?” he asks snidely.

“Do you have one?” Cartman tosses back, his tone far too serious for Kyle’s liking.

Sighing heavily, Kyle turns back to the wall-cum-door; he pulls at it gently, testing how easy it is to open it and is surprised when the door slowly, yet smoothly, slides towards him.

Holy fucking shit.

Secret fucking _entrance_.

Why the fuck would this even exist in the lodge?

 _Dead bodies dude, he’s hiding dead bodies_ , Imaginary Ike whispers and fuck, if Kyle comes across a _single_ dead body then. Then. Then _fuck_ waiting until he graduates! He’s gonna toss Uncle Budd in the goddamn slammer quicker than the dude can even register what’s fucking happening! And then he’s definitely never returning to this goddamn lodge ever again. Not even if Cartman begs, not even if Kenny wheedles, not even if Stan fucking _cries_. Never again.

“Kyle, were you lying about the cookie?” Cartman whispers, and Jesus Christ, priorities much?

“Dude, can you not see the weird-ass shit in front of us?” Kyle asks, gesturing to the hidden door in disbelief, “forget about the goddamn cookie!”

Cartman grumbles under his breath but Kyle chooses, again, to ignore his ridiculous behaviour. He pulls the door open and peers inside… he furrows his brows at the set of stone stairs and Christ, can this get any more cliché? Like. Like, is he in a horror movie right now?

What kinda convoluted bullshit is _this_?

He throws a glance at Cartman who just stares back – the brunet looks expectant as he gestures towards the steps with a sly grin. Right.

 _Never be the guy who walks down the stairs first_ , Ike informs him helpfully.

Kyle curses under his breath as he begins his venture downwards, but then—

“Wait,” he says, pausing as he steps through the door; he glances at Cartman over his shoulder, furrowing his brows worriedly, “I just realised I should’ve told Stan about the taxidermy.”

“Dude, there’s taxidermy everywhere,” Cartman says, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but Uncle Budd’s room is like… a fucking museum, or a graveyard, or. Or a morgue, or some shit,” he explains, waving his hand around airily, feeling a spike of worry hit him as he imagines Stan’s reaction to the guy’s gross taste in décor.

“Sick dude,” Cartman comments, wrinkling his nose.

“Goddammit,” Kyle says, ‘cause it’s way too late to warn him now. He’ll have to say sorry once they’re all back together again – he’ll definitely have to buy Stan some vegan pancakes or some shit, as a proper apology for accidentally traumatising him.

Still…

As he treks down the steps, he finds his mind straying away from vegan restaurants and towards the fact that. That the steps look worn and the walls are covered in half-torn wallpaper and. And it’s fucking freezing. Like, how the freezer should’ve felt, but. But it didn’t.

He hugs Cartman’s coat tighter across his body and idly wonders if the brunet is feeling chilly – Cartman isn’t complaining though, for once, so Kyle keeps his lips zipped and enjoys the warm jacket whilst he still can. Fuck, it’s so big on him and it just… smothers him in warmth.

Which could have been comforting, except…

Except he’s _just_ wandered through a hidden door inside an empty freezer which his now-deceased friend had warned him against opening.

And now these steps have Kyle’s heart racing, ‘cause now he’s thinking about what awaits him at the bottom. Logically, he knows they've all gone through more dangerous adventures, even with fatalities happening too, but something about this seems _different_. Something about this just screams _dangerous_ , but in a way that none of them have ever experienced before.

Like, he’s fucking freaked out by steps, goddammit!

 _Dude, imagine if there’s barbed wire across the steps, like in that one Creepypasta_ , Imaginary Ike muses, _or if Uncle Budd is just down here, chilling, with his massive fucking collection of guns and knives_ …

Kyle shivers, hugs himself and wishes his inner voice didn’t sound so much like his little brother.

He swallows hard as he wanders further into the smothering darkness – their footsteps echo loudly against the cold, hard stone and Kyle is suddenly terrified of tripping and falling down them.

Christ,

Why does this exist?

Why do these steps exist?

Why was there a hidden door?

Why did Butters _know_ about the hidden goddamn door?

And he clearly wanted them to stay away from it, so.

So.

“What the fuck are we doing?” he ponders aloud, to which Cartman snorts dryly behind him.

“Hunting down Butters’ old, creepy, and most definitely paedophilic, uncle?” he offers lightly.

A sour taste floods Kyle’s mouth and he. Suddenly, he doesn’t really want to encounter Uncle Budd… all of his brave feelings of being the kick-ass lawyer, sentencing Uncle Budd to a life sentence just…

Disappear.

Fuck.

Fuck, he’s _scared_.

He’s _so_ fucking scared and—

“Woah, trippy!” Cartman suddenly gasps as they reach the bottom of the steps. Kyle furrows his brows as he wanders into a large room, filled with shelves and boxes. There’s a door at the far end of it and Kyle… really doesn’t understand where he is right now.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, bewildered, “is this… the _basement_? Like, another one?”

 _What the fuck, what the fuck, what the ever-loving fuck?_ Ike chants, ‘cause.

Seriously.

What the fuck?

“Dude!” Cartman exclaims, pushing past Kyle to wander into the room, looking around eagerly, “think we’ll find dead bodies now?”

“Will you quit it with the dead bodies?” Kyle asks, exasperated as he peers around the room, feeling his skin crawl as he scans the boxes. They all had mundane labels plastered across them – _Photo Albums, Butters’ Stuff, Shit for the Kitchen, Hunting Equip._ – and he wrinkles his nose at them.

“Dude, how can you not be excited about dead bodies right now?” Cartman asks, making a beeline towards the shelves as he starts searching through them.

“Because I’m well-adjusted with strong moral fibre?” Kyle asks dryly.

“It’s cute that you think you’re well-adjusted.”

“It’s cute that you think you’re in any position to judge what well-adjusted looks like.”

“I know it doesn’t look like you!”

“Asshole,” Kyle mutters, regarding the brunet steadily. Cartman isn’t looking at him though, he’s still searching through the shelves, examining books and trinkets whilst humming Lady Gaga under his breath. It’s… kinda _nice_ , seeing this side of the normally tempestuous dickhead. He wonders if anyone at Harvard gets to see this version of Cartman… but then Wendy’s words come slamming into his mind and curiosity nips him hard, “hey dude, why don’t you have friends at Harvard?”

“Alright, point taken, fuck off!” Cartman snaps, throwing him an acidic look before he turns back to look inside a pink jewellery box. His body language is tight, rigid and. And he’s clearly ashamed. Embarrassed.

Fuck.

“No, I wasn’t making a dig, I was, uh,” Kyle flounders, then sighs, “goddammit, never mind.”

Kyle sighs and wanders over to join Cartman by the shelves – the pink jewellery box has been tossed aside in favour of another box, large and silver. Kyle watches as Cartman pops the lid open and before them is a bunch of make-up and brushes. They all look… used. And dirty. But.

Not old?

“This is some cheap-ass shit,” Cartman mutters, picking up a lipstick and derisively scoffing at it. He flicks the lid off the tube – it’s a pale pink and there’s not much left. According to the faded sticker, it’s called _Raspberry Fizz_ and had cost the owner $12.

“Jesus, you think that’s cheap?” Kyle asks, bewildered.

Cartman shoots him a dry look and throws the lipstick over his shoulder before he picks up some eyeshadows.

“High-end lipstick normally costs twenty bucks,” the brunet says, flipping the palette over and sneering at how chalky the pigments have become, “maybe thirty, if you don’t want it coming off after a meal or a night out.”

“Dude, how do you know this shit?” Kyle queries, though he supposes he should already know the answer…

“Bad Irene ain’t just a sweet-ass wrestler bro,” Cartman grins proudly, “she’s also the baddest bitch in Cambridge. Ain’t no drag queen can touch my talent in all of Massachusetts.” He looks insanely smug, puffing out his chest and squaring his shoulders – his eyes are sparkling though, with what looks like genuine delight.

Kyle opens his mouth.

Closes it again.

Imagines Cartman, all dolled up as Bad Irene with dark eyes and red lipstick, dressed in silk and lace, ‘cause Cartman apparently doesn’t skimp on the fancy shit, and.

And.

Uh.

Kyle feels himself flush, his hands getting alarmingly clammy and he quickly halts his spiraling train of thought.

Instead, he looks at the make-up in the box and considers how pastel pale the colours are – they’d probably suit Linda Stotch, honestly.

Which then leads Kyle to thinking about what Wendy had told him earlier…

“Hey, did you know Butters did drag too?” he asks, peering at the array of eyeliners and blushes, “I mean, I guess it was drag? I don’t know if it was anything more…”

“Marjorine? Yeah, I knew about it,” Cartman utters, tossing the palette back into the box, “Kenny helped him dress up, I helped him with his make-up… come to think of it, some of this shit would suit his pasty-ass face. Would’ve. Suited. Whatever.”

Kyle cants his head to the side when Cartman frowns at the make-up, before snapping the lid shut and throwing the box back onto the shelf. He wonders if anyone else knew about Butters dressing up as Marjorine; he can’t imagine Stephen Stotch being be all gung-ho on the idea. _Maybe_ Linda, but. Definitely _not_ his goddamn grandma and.

Huh.

He wonders if Charlotte knew…

He wonders if—

Oh.

 _Fuck_!

“Oh shit, dude! Do you think we should try and ring Charlotte,” Kyle says, concern colouring his tone as he digs his phone free from his pocket – no signal, fuck, “I mean, she deserves to know that her boyfriend is. That Butters is. Y’know?”

Fuck, he can’t say it.

Cartman looks at him with a blank expression and shakes his head.

“No dude,” he says, a strange emotion flitting across his eyes, “wouldn’t make a difference.”

Kyle furrows his brows as Cartman turns away, shoving his hands into his pockets as he ventures further into the basement. Damn, he knew Cartman didn’t really do relationships and romance anymore, but. But this seems really cold, even for an asshole like him.

“But,” Kyle utters, perplexed and lost, “she’s his _girlfriend_ , she deserves to know—”

“No Kyle,” Cartman interjects, throwing Kyle a sardonic look, “she doesn’t need to know shit.”

 _Oh shit_ , Ike whispers and.

And well.

Oh fucking shit, indeed.

A heavy feeling sinks into Kyle’s gut – his mind flashes back to Uncle Budd’s bedroom, to Butters catching him as he snooped around, and all Kyle can remember is how his inner Ike had chanted _HE’S LYING_ , as Butters talked about Canada. About Charlotte.

About visiting Kyle in California.

‘Cause.

‘Cause he guesses—

“Butters was never dating that skank, Charlotte.”

—Butters _had_ lied to him.

* * *

**2.09AM**

Stan steps into Uncle Budd’s room and—

“Oh, sick dude!”

—instantly gags.

Uncle Budd’s room looks like a gross fucking shrine to death – Stan recoils, falls back into Jimmy and feels his stomach lurch sharply. God, he doesn’t even know where to _look_ ; the walls are covered in the heads of bears, wolves and… _fuck_ , a deer? Urgh, how awful, what the hell could a deer ever do to warrant being killed?

Stan feels himself being righted as Jimmy gently nudges him forward – he takes the hint and warily steps into the room. It’s dimly lit by the slithers of moonlight which float through the window and when Jimmy goes to turn the lights on, Stan sharply shakes his head.

He doesn’t need a high definition view of this shit.

He wets his lips and pads towards the bed – it’s fucking big and unnecessarily so. Stan kicks at the frame and turns to give Jimmy a questioning look.

“Do you have the urge to bathe in bleach,” he asks, canting his head towards the bed, “or is it just me?”

Jimmy snorts as he wanders towards the fireplace, his sweet face upturns as he scans the portrait of Butters.

“Nope, not just you,” he comments, shuddering as he turns to face Stan.

Stan continues to look at the portrait though – Butters looks around eleven, ‘cause his hair has a tinge of blue in the fringe which is a dead giveaway. He had only dyed it, ‘cause of some dumb dare Cartman had made; god, Butters’ dad had been so pissed. The dude hadn’t been allowed to hang out with them until the colour washed out.

Which.

Well, had taken about nine weeks, fuck.

He sighs and crosses his arms, looking around the room with unveiled revulsion.

“So, the night’s been crazy, huh?” he says, his voice soft in the dark room.

Jimmy nods, his eyebrows knitting together as a thoughtful look flickers across his face.

“Butters is dead,” he says, flexing his grip on his crutches, “can’t get cruh-cruh— can’t get— you cuh— you can’t get crazier than that.”

Stan nods, before he nibbles at his lip, slowly making his way towards the drawers. God, his eyes feel so fucking dry, but he still feels like he’s seconds away from bawling his fucking heart out. Like, goddamn. How can Butters be dead?

The dude was just.

 _Just_ alive and.

And.

And.

And… oh.

A memory hits him hard in the gut, flooding his veins with ice and horror.

 _Crap_.

“Oh fuck,” Stan utters weakly, his hands hovering over a pile of books, “oh. Fuck me.”

“Well, if you’re offering,” Jimmy jests, “but you know I’m not ginger, right?”

“Shut up Jimmy,” he breathes, not even bothered by Jimmy’s dig regarding his undisguised crush on his best friend. He’s too busy trying to regulate his breathing and his hands are shaking as he grasps onto the drawers; he feels faint and sick and oh _god_ , oh god, he’s totally going to hell, “fuck. Shit. Shitting _fuck_.”

“Stan, what seems to be the problem?” Jimmy asks, joining Stan by the drawers. He rests his weight on one of his crutches and reaches out to gingerly pick up a book. Stan doesn’t really pay attention to him though, ‘cause he’s focusing all his energy on _not_ hurling all over Uncle Budd’s creepy fucking bedroom.

 _Shit_.

“Jimmy,” he croaks, eyes welling up with unshed tears, “what was the last thing you said to Butters? ‘C-‘cause I think. I think the last thing I ever said to him was… was that none of us even liked him.” He tears his gaze away from the pile of books and looks up into Jimmy’s warm brown eyes, “I told him that none of us liked him and he’s d-d-dead.”

Jimmy’s eyes soften with sympathy.

“Dude, I—”

“Butters died thinking we all hated him!” Stan bursts out, slamming his hands against the drawers, “fuck, what is wrong with me? Dude only wanted to play a dumb game and. And I just fucking. And now he’s. And I just. Goddammit!”

“Butters… Butters didn’t die thinking we hated him,” Jimmy says, a pragmatic tone threading through his words, “I mean, Kenny puh-puh-puh— Kenny puh— Kenny chose him. Over Craig, remember?”

Stan nods, clinging onto Jimmy’s every word.

“So… you don’t think he’s like, pissed at me? Like, he didn’t really die thinking I… I really didn’t like him?” he asks, feeling more like a child than ever before as he swipes away the tears which trickle down his cheeks. Jimmy nods encouragingly at him, shifting his weight so he can reach out and place a hand on Stan’s shoulders – fuck, his palms are warm, and his grip is strong as he squeezes comfortingly.

“Chill your tits, Stan,” he says softly, “you’re not a bad person and Butters doesn’t. _Didn’t_ , think so either.”

Stan swallows as Jimmy’s words sink in – he still doesn’t really believe Jimmy, but. But he still likes hearing his words regardless; it calms his nerves, knowing that maybe, _maybe_ , Butters didn’t die thinking he was all alone in the world.

That he had no friends.

‘Cause sure, he has his parents and Charlotte… but.

But a guy’s gotta have _friends_.

And the last thing Stan ever said was… was…

He shudders, clings onto Jimmy’s hand and tries hard to quell the churning feelings in his stomach.

They linger in the chilly silence, basking in the comfort that the other provides. Stan’s eyes flit over the dresser, his gaze drifting across the books on Canada, on the different provinces and the culture and shit. There’s one on hunting tactics and surviving out in the woods… definitely looks like something Ned would read.

Then there’s one that looks like it’s come straight outta Kenny’s locker – ‘cause it’s all about monsters. Which. Is weird.

Stan still snatches it up, idly reads the back of it and decides _fuck it_ , Uncle Budd doesn’t need this book. So, he tucks it away inside his jacket’s pocket – he thinks it might make Kenny feel a bit better, being given a book on shit he likes.

Even if it doesn’t… Kenny deserves to know that people still care about him.

Are still friends with him.

Are on his side—

Huh.

“Hey Jimmy,” he utters, looking askance at the brunet, “how do you feel… about the whole _Kenny_ situation? With Craig… and B-Butters.”

Jimmy hums, his honey-coloured eyes drifting across the room before he meets Stan’s gaze again.

“I’m a journalist Stan,” he begins, shrugging, “I have to gather all the facts before I cuh-cuh-cast my judgment. And I can’t judge Kenny for what he’s done, because I don’t have all the facts.”

Stan furrows his brows.

“Facts? What other facts are there?” he asks curiously, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Kenny told us why he picked Butters, he told us why Craig survived. What else do you need to know?”

Jimmy purses his lips as he cocks his head to the side.

“Well, the identity of the psycho, for one,” he explains, “his muh-muh-motivation and how he even _knows_ about last year. We were the only ones up here, so it’s cuh-cuh-curious, don’t you think?”

“Kyle thinks it’s Uncle Budd,” Stan says, to which Jimmy nods thoughtfully, “he was up here last year… and I guess he is, this year too?”

“True, but I don’t think he’d kill his own nephew, very much,” Jimmy says, before he begins to pace, his face lined with flickering frustration, “who would have the cuh-cuh-capabilities of building a trap like the one Kenny described? And to plan it out, being able to see what’s happening in the shed without physically being there? Means there must be cameras – so what else is he recording, and why?”

Stan’s gut curdles with anxiety, his neck prickling with sweat as he slowly registers the implications behind Jimmy’s words. He quickly glances around the room, unsure if he can even spot any cameras, but.

Oh god.

This is fucking sick.

He shakes his head, tries hard to ignore the fact that he feels _watched_ and glances over at Jimmy again.

“So… are you cool with Kenny almost killing Craig?” he asks, ‘cause Jimmy had been oddly quiet in the lounge before. Even when Clyde was starting a fight, even when Cartman was goading him, Jimmy had been there to keep the peace.

“Oh, no, I’m actually pruh-pruh-pretty mad,” Jimmy corrects, before he cants his head slightly, “but not at him. I am a little intrigued about his decision-making, but. I’m not above giving the guy a bruh-bruh-bruh-break.”

“You know, I don’t think Clyde would be happy to hear you say that,” Stan says wryly, ‘cause he can’t imagine _Kyle_ being happy with him not picking his side, or Cartman, or even Kenny. They’re all grossly co-dependent and loyalty comes above anything else.

Fuck it, even _he’d_ be pissed if he was in Clyde’s position…

“I love Clyde,” Jimmy says, “but he allows his emotions to cuh-cuh-control him, very much.”

“What if he gets pissed at you for not picking a side?” he asks, tilting his head – ‘cause he knows Clyde will be irritated by Jimmy not siding with his gang, his friends. Inwardly, he’s relieved to hear that not everyone is out for Kenny’s blood – he might not be as furious as Cartman, but it does lift a weight off his shoulders, knowing that Kenny’s got people on his side.

Dude deserves it, after all the shit he’s been through tonight.

“Then he can stay muh-muh— he can stay muh-muh— can stay— he can stay muh-mad, _bitch_ ,” Jimmy answers, before he cracks a smile and Stan can only blink in response, ‘cause wow. Dude can really sap the tension outta any situation.

Still.

Stan sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and thinks.

He.

He doesn’t even have the energy to deal with _any_ of this shit right now.

Stan opens his eyes and looks around the room again – Kyle had said there was some creepy shit, but apart from the books and the dead fucking heads on the wall… there really wasn’t anything in here that he wouldn’t find in his Uncle Jimbo’s house.

Well.

Maybe his Uncle Jimbo wouldn’t put _his_ school photo opposite his obscenely large bed…

But still. Stan kinda expected _creepier_ , like. After everything they’ve been through as kids, he has a pretty high threshold for what he considers weird. And books on Canada, on monsters? Not really that weird…

“Think he has literal skeletons in his closet?” Jimmy asks, heading towards the closet with a curious look. Stan swallows and shrugs.

“Might as well,” he says with a sigh, “haven’t found anything else around here.”

He joins Jimmy by the closet and waits as the brunet opens it with flourish; there’s. Just coats? Like, loads of heavy-ass, leather coats. The kind that people hunt in, with loads of pockets and shit. Stan hears Jimmy hum with disappointment; he reaches in and pushes the heavy coats aside, hoping to find something that would unnerve Kyle…

God, the thought of Kyle in this room freaks him out, ‘cause it’s just such a.

Gross.

Suffocating.

Place.

And Kyle… Kyle already has enough experience dealing with gross, suffocating places, he doesn’t need to suffer through anymore. ‘Cause whilst Stan has missed Kyle like _nothing_ else, except Wendy, he’s so glad that his friend has managed to escape Sheila’s controlling ways and Gerald’s toxic behaviour.

He’s glad his friend has managed to escape South Park, ‘cause. He deserves it.

God, Kyle deserves so much from a world that doesn’t even appreciate him – Kyle’s so smart, funny and brave. He’s one of the best people Stan has in his life and… and… he just wishes he could let Kyle know that, but. He’s so scared.

He’s more scared of losing Kyle… than he is hopeful of getting to have Kyle as a. As a.

Oh god, is he _really_ gagging right now?

“Are you really daydreaming about your boyfriend right now?” Jimmy asks wryly, leaning against the closet’s frame with an arched brow.

“You know those jokes are homophobic, right?”

“Did Kyle tell you that?”

Stan flushes and ducks his head, ‘cause.

Maybe.

Maybe Kyle had told him that.

“Fuck off Jimmy,” he mutters before he pauses. He furrows his brows and sinks to his knees as his eyes catch onto something small in the corner of the closet. He reaches in and pulls out a brown, wooden box. It feels pretty heavy in his hands and there’s a thick padlock keeping it shut.

“I do enjoy finding hidden treasure,” Jimmy comments, which has Stan snorting softly in response. He experimentally shakes the box and hears the contents move about – it sounds like there’s at least a few items inside and pretty hefty ones too. He glances at Jimmy, who has a deep frown on his sweet face, and gestures to the lock with a half-shrug.

“Think there’s a key around here?” he asks, tilting the box upwards.

Jimmy arches a brow and shoots Stan a wry smile.

“Who needs a kuh-kuh-key?” he says, tapping the top of the box pointedly, “put it down, I’ll break it open.”

Stan blinks.

“That,” he says slowly, “sounds like a _terrible_ idea.”

“Exactly,” Jimmy grins, “so let’s do it – wuh-wuh-what could go wrong?”

Stan quirks a brow and gestures around the room – he points at one particular mounted head of a deer and feels sick. “I don’t know, dude,” he says, “maybe… maybe we start breaking this dude’s shit and then we find out he _is_ innocent, and then we end up being the next Bambi?”

Jimmy cocks his head. “Thought it was his muh-muh-mom who got shot?” he ponders idly.

“That’s not the point!” Stan argues, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He hears Jimmy sigh and tap at the box again.

“Just let me break it, it’ll be fine,” he says and fuck, he sounds so _confident_ too.

Stan bites his lip and considers Jimmy’s offer…

* * *

**2.16AM**

Wendy slows her pace to allow Clyde to catch up.

She doesn’t pay him much notice as she pulls her phone out and switches on the torch, using the light to scan the ground. Clyde sidles up to her, a sulky pout etched firmly on his face – Wendy glances up at him and cocks her head.

“Is this where you placed those traps?” she asks, her eyes drifting across the dark floor of the woods.

Clyde wrinkles his nose, kicks at the snow on the ground and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, “can’t remember where we put ‘em though.”

Wendy hums. “Be careful then,” she warns him, arching a brow, “the snow would’ve covered them up.”

“And here’s me hoping we would’ve caught a bear,” Clyde sighs mournfully to himself before he tucks his hands under his armpits and begins to trek deeper into the woods, “come on, the noise came from this direction.”

Wendy feels… slightly irritated, but follows his lead, moving fast to match his long strides. She shines the light ahead of them, making sure to illuminate the snow beneath them in hopes of spying the traps before they walk into one.

That would not make the night any fucking better, god.

They walk together in silence, with matching stony expressions and stiff, awkward movements. Clyde looks incredibly thoughtful though, a deep furrow curling between his brows as he ventures into the woods. Wendy keeps her light focuses on the path ahead of them, but her gaze keeps flitting towards the boy beside her.

For someone so attuned with their emotions, who could be endearingly empathetic, Clyde had been unreasonably cold towards Kenny before…

It honestly unnerved her and.

Well.

She really hadn’t liked seeing that side of him.

‘Cause sure, Clyde getting protective over Craig is one thing, they’re best friends, _she gets that_ – but to not even acknowledge the fact that one of his friends _had died_?

It’s just so messed up…

“Hey Clyde,” Wendy prompts because she’s not one to linger on mysteries and also because she detests awkward silences, “can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” Clyde says, glancing at her curiously.

Wendy purses her lips and nods.

“Do you just not give a shit that Butters is dead?” she asks bluntly.

“Wha— _no_ , of course I give a shit!” Clyde protests, looking genuinely upset by her words, “I really liked Butters – he was a really cool dude to hang out with, it’s just that. Death… makes me feel weird. Y’know?”

“Oh, okay. It’s just, you seemed _really_ mad that Craig was alive but could’ve died,” Wendy explains, flicking her wrist around to shine the light over the dark ground, “when Butters could’ve survived, but actually got _slaughtered_.” She watches as Clyde ducks his head and shoves his hands into his pockets, a mulish expression on his face.

“Look, after my mom died, I found that I just couldn’t… really deal with death, okay? So, I don’t. Besides, I only have the emotional capacity to process one situation at a time,” Clyde says, glaring down at the ground, “and. And Craig is my _best friend_ , okay? I’m… pretty fucking messed up about Butters dying, I am, but. But Craig is like my brother – you know? I’ve known him since we were gross fucking babies and shit.”

Wendy sighs, blowing a lock of hair out of her face.

“You’re not _Tinkerbell_ , Clyde,” she says sternly, “and okay, I’m sorry that your mom’s death messed you up, but I just don’t get it – you’ve known Butters since you two were gross fucking babies too!”

“It’s not the same,” Clyde says sullenly, “I just. Craig got really messed up after last year and Kenny is still fucking with his head, and—”

“And Craig is still fucking with _Kenny’s_ head,” Wendy interjects impatiently, ‘cause it’s true – or at least, from what _Stan’s_ told her, it’s true, “look, I like Craig, but Christ, what is with everyone’s fucking obsession with him?”

Wendy is honestly so lost as to why every boy around her has suddenly lost their collective minds – it’s like they’ve all developed this dumb _hivemind_ with Craig at the centre of it. It makes no sense and she honestly just… _doesn’t_ get it.

Clyde furrows his brows. “Who’s obsessed? I’m not obsessed,” he protests, gesturing to himself, “I just. Look, all my friends have gone to college and I. I just wanted _one_ last cool party with all of you before… before I get left behind _again_. But I didn’t get that, and now all my friends are falling out and I… I just want everything to go to normal.”

“Well,” Wendy shrugs, picking her words carefully “it won’t. Someone has killed Butters – we can’t turn the clock back on that, but you need to understand that it wasn’t Kenny’s fault, not really. You need to give him a break.”

Clyde’s tight body language slowly melts away as a disheartened expression transforms his face. He opens his mouth and for a second, Wendy is sure he’s about to argue with her – instead, Clyde’s mouth snaps shut, and he stalks past her, a solemn aura radiating from him.

“I’m not saying this to be cruel,” Wendy says, hurrying after him, guilt nipping at her nerves, “I’m just being honest, okay? You need to drop the grudge you have against Kenny—”

“—it’s not a _grudge_ —”

“—grudges make you ugly, you know?” Wendy breezes on, not dignifying Clyde’s protests with a response, “they age you and make you look all haggard and gross.” She catches up to him and taps him sharply on the cheek. “So, if you don’t want to ruin that babyface, I suggest you get over yourself.”

Clyde purses his lips – Wendy can see him considering her words and she feels relief hit her when he finally nods.

“Okay,” he says, slow and unsure, “okay. I’ll… _think_ about giving Kenny a break.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do?” Wendy queries, arching a knowing brow, “or because of the babyface-thing?”

Clyde blinks at her before a small grin grows on his lips. “Well,” he says, framing his face, “I’d hate to lose my best asset.”

Wendy snorts and rolls her eyes, shining her phone across the thicket of trees in front of them. She’s never come this far before – even last year, when Clyde and Token had placed bear traps all over the woods, she had stayed behind with the rest of the girls, Googling _how to open a bear trap_ , ‘cause they just _knew_ someone was going to get hurt.

Luckily, no one had gotten caught in one last year – it had actually been her biggest fear when Butters had run off after shit went down. She just had terrifying visions of finding him, stuck in a trap, frozen to death during the blizzard with the same heartbroken expression plastered across his face.

God, her heart had never raced so… so… _awfully_ before.

It was just pure luck that nothing had actually happened to him that night, that Uncle Budd found him before—

Um.

Well, maybe.

Just maybe, Butters _hadn’t_ been so lucky then.

“Clyde, are you using humour to hide how terrified you really feel?” she asks wryly, eager to move on from her spiraling, darkening thoughts.

“Depends,” Clyde shoots back, “are you using psychology to hide how scared _you_ feel?”

“It’s not psychology—"

“But are you?” he interrupts, rolling his eyes when Wendy looks at him blankly, “scared?” he clarifies.

Wendy swallows and glances away, not knowing how to answer.

Not knowing what to answer, ‘cause.

‘Cause truthfully, she’s _terrified_ , but she’s not the type to let it show. She wants her girls, she wants _Stan_ – she wants her friends all back together, strong and united.

It’s all falling apart and Wendy…

Wendy just wants Bebe back.

She adores Stan, she does, but _god_ does she miss her girls. She’s terrified for Bebe and Heidi, wandering around in the dark like this and Nichole? Oh god, she can’t even _think_ about Nichole right now. Like, she knows Nichole is brave and strong… but she’s still in the middle of the fucking mountains with only _Token_ as back up.

Which may seem a _little_ unfair, but Token isn’t a fighter.

Thankfully Heidi _is_ – she’s brave and quite adept in a tussle, whereas Bebe? Bebe isn’t, not really. Give the gal a gun and she’s _unstoppable_ , in hand-to-hand combat, though? Well, the less said, the better. Jimmy may have acknowledged her solid right hook, but Bebe can’t really fight for shit at all.

Which is why Wendy needs to make sure that the lodge is safe, that nothing can hurt Bebe when she makes her way back to them. ‘Cause if there _is_ something out there, in the woods, hunting them down and Bebe gets _hurt_ or worse, _dies_ , then…

Then…

Oh god, it _hurts_ too much to even _think_ about.

Bebe means so much to her, almost as much as Stan. Maybe even a little bit more, honestly. ‘Cause whilst Stan had been sweetly open-minded and accepting, Bebe had been there from the beginning. When Wendy had first come out as genderfluid, it honestly had been a little awkward at first, with some of the girls stumbling over names and pronouns, but Bebe? God, Bebe hadn’t stumbled _once_ – she had been quick to adapt, accepting Wendy without question and even offering to help her buy her first binder.

Fuck.

She honestly doesn’t know what she would do without Bebe, so.

So, keeping her safe really is more important than anything.

“How much farther?” she asks, choosing to ignore Clyde’s question altogether. However, a hint of fear escapes her and colours her tone – it draws Clyde’s attention, who hesitates and then swings an arm around her shoulders. He squeezes her tightly, his face hopeful as he tries to comfort her; it feels too weird though, so Wendy’s body goes rigid under his grip and she simply arches a bemused brow, “ _Clyde_.”

“Uh, right, sorry,” he utters, releasing her from his grip, “and I don’t know? It sounded like it came from pretty deep in the woods though.”

“Right,” Wendy says, with a short nod, “let’s keep going then.”

‘Cause if there is a psycho on this mountain, then Wendy is going to _find_ it. Hunt it down. Make it fucking _pay_ for what it’s done to Butters and all her friends. ‘Cause Bebe is out there, with Heidi and if the psycho finds them first, then Wendy. Well, she doesn’t think she’d ever forgive herself.

They venture deeper – it gets darker, more suffocating, more _smothering_ …

Wendy shivers as she tightens her grip on the phone and she subtly sidles up to Clyde. He’s a walking, talking heater, radiating pure warmth from his body – god, she’s so jealous, she wishes she could burn as hot.

Stan always complains about how cold her skin is and how her hands always seem to be constantly freezing; it would be so _nice_ to just be able to touch him without Stan jumping and squirming from discomfort first. God, would it be weird if she asked Clyde to put his arm around her again? Just for a second?

Oh god, it _would_ be weird.

Why would she _even_ consider—

_Snap!_

Her thoughts crash to a standstill as a sharp metallic sound cuts through the air – slowly and fearfully, she turns to look at Clyde. Clyde doesn’t look back at her; he just looks down and _there_. Oh fuck, there, clasped around his ankle is a _beartrap_.

There’s an awful _silence_ which stretches for three seconds before Clyde throws his head back and wails.

“Oh fuck!” he declares, clutching at his ankle as tears spring to his eyes. Wendy watches as blood spills over his fingers and soaks his jeans.

“Oh god!” she breathes, falling to her knees with her hands hovering over his trapped limb.

Clyde swallows hard and Wendy watches fretfully as he forces himself to look at his ankle. He splutters out a curse and then cries, leaning against her as he clutches at his jeans.

Fuck, it looks.

It looks _awful_.

Buried deep into his skin is one of the many beartraps Clyde had insisted on scattering last year – there were several dotted around the lodge and he had even somehow managed to coerce Token into helping him set them up.

Well, shit.

“Hoisted,” he says, his voice a breathy whine as his eyes glaze over in pain, “by my own petard!”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I don’t think you understand what that means, Clyde…”

“Fuck you Wendy!”

“Don’t be an ass,” she replies shortly, her eyes scanning the trap as she tries hard to remember the instructions Bebe had found, one whole year ago. Her hands hover over the frozen metal warily – she really doesn’t want to fuck this up, ‘cause holy shit. Conducting a DIY amputation does _not_ sound fun right now.

“I’m pretty sure I get to be an ass right now, don’t you?” Clyde whines back, and Wendy doesn’t take it to heart, ‘cause Clyde is never really caustic without a reason, and he’s also in a _lot_ of fucking pain, so she’s gonna give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Calm down Clyde,” Wendy says calmly as she mulls over her words carefully – she doesn’t want to irritate Clyde, nor does she want to panic him… any _unnecessary_ attention right now could be potentially, uh.

Bad.

“I’m trying,” he says breathily, and yeah, okay, she should probably give him a break.

“I know, but if you keep being loud, then you might alert someone to us being here,” Wendy says, gazing at his ankle carefully. She gently pulls at the denim around his wounds; she bites her lip when the blood swells up and Clyde whimpers again.

“Fuck, I’m gonna die in the middle of these dumb fucking woods and I never even got to second base with a Raisins’ Girl,” he says mournfully, rubbing roughly at his eyes, leaving them red and slightly swollen.

“Your priorities amaze me,” Wendy sighs, slipping off her belt to tie it around Clyde’s calf, “this should slow down the blood loss – goddammit, you are so lucky Bebe and I researched these things when you were placing them last year.”

Clyde merely pouts and gazes up at her with wide, sad eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, tears trickling over his full cheeks.

Wendy nods and looks at what she’s dealing with – his ankle is trapped pretty deep, his foot resting on the pan of the trap. She prods it gently and glances up at him. “Can you wiggle your toes?” she asks.

Clyde swallows, sniffs and winces – his foot twitches slightly and a whine of pain bursts free from his lips.

“I can, but it hurts!” he gasps, grasping at her wrist desperately.

“Okay,” Wendy says, nodding, “we probably don’t need to amputate it then… we just need to free your ankle, staunch the bleeding and get you some antibiotics. At least, until we can get you a tetanus shot… urgh. The last thing we need is you getting sepsis or gangrene. Or something.”

Clyde chokes and nods, chewing his lip as he watches Wendy tug gently at his jeans.

“Goddammit, these traps aren’t supposed to make you bleed,” she says, furrowing her brows, “bruise, maybe? But _god_ , why are the teeth so sharp – where did you even get this from again?”

“Stan’s Uncle Jimbo.”

Wendy sighs. “Of course,” she mutters, feeling along the trap and resting her hands upon the springs, “next time, don’t be such a cheapskate and buy proper traps.” She then rests her hands on the trap and begins to push down – the trap groans under the weight, but it’s nothing compared to the screams that Clyde emits.

“Fuck, stop, please stop!” he cries out, clutching at her shoulders desperately.

“Okay, okay,” Wendy says, biting her lip. She decides to tackle the issue from another angle – she brushes snow away from the trap and is glad to see that it’s not bolted to the ground or anything. They could, _potentially_ , take Clyde and the trap back to the lodge… try and free him there with some actual, real tools.

God, she wished Nichole was with her right now; the girl was like a walking, talking Swiss Army knife.

She’d get Clyde out in no time… probably painlessly too.

“Maybe I can carry you back to the lodge?” she says lightly.

Clyde blinks at her with wide eyes, tilting his head as he slowly digests her suggestion.

“Are you fucking craz—"

_Crack!_

Clyde’s voice is drowned out by the sound of wood snapping loudly – the sound echoes around them and it chills Wendy to the core. She stands, spins around and shines her phone towards a thick cluster of trees. The noise, it. It freezes her heart, her mind, her very soul. The noise arose from somewhere so far, yet… it felt _close_.

“Wendy?” Clyde pipes up warily, “Wendy?”

“Is that what you heard?” she asks, her eyes still focused on the trees in the distance, “that noise?”

Clyde emits a tiny whimper which draws her attention; she glances down and sees him nodding, clutching tightly at his ankle. She ducks down and glances at his ankle – yeah, it should be fine. It’s no longer bleeding, and he can still move it so.

So, he should be fine, right?

“Okay,” she says, holding onto his shoulder tightly – she waits until he meets her eye, “I’m gonna go—”

_Crack!_

“—check that out,” she finishes distantly, her head snapping towards the noise like a meerkat.

It becomes very clear, very quickly that Clyde is _not_ fond of that idea.

“What? No, fuck that! Please don’t leave me,” he begs frantically, his brown eyes wide and beseeching; he looks… really small, curled up around the trap, his eyes flooding over with tears, “please!”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Wendy croons, her hands hovering over him, “I’ll be right back, okay? You’ll be fine, I’ve staunched the blood loss, you’re _not_ going to die.”

“You can’t leave me like this,” Clyde urges, gesturing to his ankle, “please! I’m like an all-you-can-eat buffet for bears right now!”

There’s another _crack_.

Louder.

Closer.

Wendy bites her lip and feels herself sway towards the source.

“Wendy, please!”

_Crack!_

Fuck… Wendy falters, her gaze flitting between Clyde and the dark cluster of trees ahead of here…

* * *

**CRAIG CHOSE TO TELL THE TRUTH**

**2.15AM**

Craig freezes as he stares into Tweek’s pretty green eyes.

He swallows, opens his mouth but the words are stuck in his throat.

 _Everything_?

What did that even mean?

“Craig?” Tweek prompts, squeezing his hands gently.

Craig blinks, wets his lip and just stares – fuck, Tweek knows he’s been lying, except. Except it wasn’t really lying, it was more omitting the truth… does that really count as lying?

 _Yes, you fucking idiot, of course it does_ , scolds a little voice inside his head.

Craig blanches, ‘cause the voice kinda sounds like Mr Mackey.

He holds on Tweek’s warm fingers, his frozen hands greedily soaking up their heat; fuck, Tweek wants to know the whole truth about last year and. And Craig has never been so fucking terrified, ‘cause there’s a reason why he’s kept quiet about all the _details_ of last year. Of the shit that went down between him and Kenny.

Of everything, really.

And Tweek wants to know everything.

Craig bites his lip and clutches, clings, desperately onto his fiancé, ‘cause he isn’t sure how long he’ll get to keep Tweek as a fiancé, as a boyfriend, as _anything_ in his life. ‘Cause, ‘cause Tweek wants the truth and. And after seeing Butters die, after watching Kenny _not choose him_ , Craig can’t help but think _what’s the point_?

What’s the point in lying to Tweek?

‘Cause lying’s gotten him nowhere, it’s just brought him pain and heartbreak and.

And maybe if he _had_ told the truth, then who knows?

Maybe Butters would’ve lived.

Maybe the mysterious-ass psycho wouldn’t be hunting them down…

“Hey, Craig?” Tweek’s voice floats up between them again; Craig looks down and his fiancé looks concerned, but there’s a tiny furl of annoyance curling between his brows. Craig kinda wants to press his lips against it, to feel it relax and smoothen out. Tweek should never look so consternated, he deserves.

He deserves happiness.

He deserves better.

He deserves.

Fuck.

Tweek deserves the truth.

Craig swallows, clears his throat and nods jerkily.

“Okay,” he says, focusing on the pale green of Tweek’s eyes – they have flecks of gold and brown; Craig commits the colour to memory, ‘cause he might not get to see them this close again, “okay, so. Last year was a fucking mess, right?”

Tweek arches a brow and nods.

“Yeah, I _was_ there Craig.”

“Right. So, after that bullshit game of Truth and Dare,” Craig continues, rubbing his thumb over Tweek’s knuckles, “we decided to ditch everyone, right? But no one would leave us the fuck alone, so I said—”

“Let’s go to the basement,” Tweek finishes, his brows furrowing deeper. Craig stares at his face, the urge to stroke away the confusion and frustration from his fiancé’s face almost too much to resist.

“Yeah, except it wasn’t my idea,” Craig says, his gaze flitting away slightly, “it was Cartman’s.”

“Oh god, that was part of his dumb fucking prank?”

“Yeah, honey. And then you headed down, whilst I was gonna go grab our stuff, some blankets, whatever. But… while you went and waited for me in the basement, Kenny just came out of fucking nowhere and asked if we could talk,” Craig says, his words halted and heavy as he spits them out, “he said it would just take a moment, so I. I thought _fuck it_ , it’ll just take a moment and then I get to spend the rest of the night with you…”

Tweek doesn’t say anything.

He just nods and waits for Craig to carry on with his story.

Craig clears his throat and sighs. “So. So, I went up to our bedroom, ‘cause I needed to grab our shit anyway and. And Kenny just starts telling me that… that he _loves_ me. That he knows everyone wants him to be with Butters, but he can’t, because it’s not Butters he loves. It’s me,” he breathes, almost in disbelief as he remembers Kenny’s confession, god, it had been so _surreal_ hearing the blond’s heartfelt words, “that, that he knows I’m in love with _you_ , but. But that he thinks that I like him too. That he _knows_ I like him too.” 

Tweek still doesn’t say anything, but.

It’s worse this time.

‘Cause he’s never heard this part of the story before.

Craig feels his heart grow cold and his throat grows tight – Tweek looks so confused and hurt and _devastated_. Craig can see his mind already spiraling, his anxiety already ratcheting, and he has to nip this in the bud, he has to fucking nip it _now_.

“But I turned him down because I. I didn’t want him, not like I want you,” he rushes out, leaning into Tweek’s space with beseeching eyes, “so I rejected him. Told him that, that I couldn’t leave you, that I didn’t _want_ to leave you, ‘cause I love you. I love you, Tweek; you _know_ that, right?”

Tweek sways on his knees, his green eyes clouded and conflicted.

“Just,” he utters distantly, “keep going.”

Craig bites his lip, feels a whine of frustration build within his throat, but he swallows it down and nods briskly.

“And, and so I go to leave, to find you,” he continues, his monotonous voice growing higher and quicker as he forces the words out, “‘cause you’re still in the basement and I just needed to be near you, but. But when I open the bedroom door, _Butters_ is there. Staring at me and the dude’s crying and he looks at me and then he looks at Kenny and he just. Fucking _flees_ – I guess he must’ve heard us, he _definitely_ must’ve heard Kenny and so we run after him, but then we bump into Token instead, who says it wasn’t his idea, it was just his phone. So, he goes to retrieve that and we run to the lounge and I look for you, but I can’t find you and then suddenly, you appear with Kyle and you’re crying ‘cause you got locked in Uncle Budd’s creepy fucking basement and. And. I don’t know, Kyle was screaming, Stan was drunk, the girls were all mad at Cartman and… and all I could think about was how scared you had been. How fucking shaken up you were and… and I just decided that I couldn’t tell you. And I was going to tell you later, I was… it’s just. Later never really came. Until now, I guess.”

Craig pants lightly as he finishes, his body trembling as his words linger between them, hanging in the air like neon lights.

“I’m sorry,” Craig adds, ‘cause he is, he’s not just saying it, he really is so fucking sorry that. That it’s taken him this long to confess. To tell the truth. To give Tweek all the dirty, goddamn details he deserves, “I should’ve told you that night, but. But I couldn’t.”

“You could’ve told me when we got back to South Park though,” Tweek says mulishly.

“After everything that went down and then with me going to college… I just. I wanted to just forget what had happened and. And I didn’t want to hurt you or have you thinking that I was going to leave and _cheat_ on you in Aurora,” Craig explains, and even as he says the words out loud, he knows he sounds just as stupid as he feels.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? Ever?” Tweek asks, his green eyes full of aggravation.

“I,” Craig falters, then sighs, ‘cause he needs to tell the fucking _truth_ – even if he does paint him as a goddamn coward, “a part of me kinda hoped you would’ve seen the video, but. But then I remembered it was on Facebook Live and you don’t have social media, ‘cause—”

“—the FBI are using it to spy on us and I refuse to allow the government access to my personal details,” Tweek finishes, which Craig can’t help but smile softly at. His smile drops when Tweek’s sweet look turns sour, “I just. I don’t understand something.”

Craig bites his lip and steels himself.

“What is it?” he asks softly, delicately.

“Why would Kenny think… that you _like_ him Craig?” Tweek asks, cocking his head, “I know… I _know_ that you do, you can’t tell me that you don’t—”

“I _don’t_ ,” Craig hisses, curling in on himself because it’s true.

He doesn’t.

Not. Not really.

Not anymore.

He couldn’t possibly even _consider_ … fuck, no.

“—or didn’t,” Tweek amends, holding up his hands, “because I know what you’re like when you have a crush on someone, but. But how did Kenny know? What even gave him the idea that you like him back?”

“Cartman told him that,” Craig pauses and licks his lips nervously, “that I was giving out all the right signals.”

“Signals?” Tweek asks, to which Craig nods jerkily, “what kind of signals?”

Craig’s bottom lip trembles as he tries to avert his gaze, but Tweek leans up, placing his hands atop the brunet’s knees for balance – he captures Craig’s gaze and. And Craig can’t look away again, his fiancé’s eyes are too big and beseeching.

“Tell me,” Tweek urges, his tone sharp and keen.

“I,” Craig falters, folds into himself and trembles, “so, back when we kissed after I visited you, I just wanted to forget it happened, but I didn’t want to lose Kenny as a friend, so I thought we could just. Go back to how we were. _Before_. And, like, so no one would ask any questions or get suspicious. So. So whenever we hung out, we just. Acted like normal… he would. He would flirt with me and—” he cuts himself off, presses a hand to his eyes and bites his lip, “—and I would _flirt_ back. Sometimes, I guess, I guess I would flirt first.”

His words are loud in the fragile silence.

Tweek says nothing.

“I guess… those were the kind of signals Cartman was talking about.”

Tweek still stays quiet.

Craig chews his lip and.

And he peeks up, hesitant and slow… and ends up breaking his own heart when he sees the pain in Tweek’s eyes.

“You still, _ah_ , flirted with him?” Tweek asks, twitches, his fingers retreating away from Craig’s knees to fist his own shirt, “you… _why_? Why would you _flirt_ with him, why would you, _nngh_ , lead him on, after… after…?”

“I thought it didn’t mean anything,” Craig says honestly, feeling his throat close up as he watches Tweek’s fingers turn white, “at first, anyway. I mean, Kenny pretty much flirts with all of us, even _you_ , I didn’t think. I didn’t think I was _special_ but. But then.”

“But then he confesses his love to you,” Tweek finishes miserably, “and you still _felt_ special, right?”

A mournful whine emits from Craig’s throat as he throws himself forwards.

“Yes, but even then, I still turned him down,” he says, urgent and heated, “I turned him down babe, ‘cause I _love_ you.”

Tweek worries his lip, clutches at his shirt and warily meets Craig’s eye.

“I kinda feel like a consolation prize,” he says, and Craig’s heart shatters at the despondent words which float between them, “I don’t know, I knew you liked him before and it didn’t really bother me, I thought it was silly and kinda, _urgh_ , cute but now. Now I just feel so… expendable?”

“You’re _not_ honey! I love you!”

“You say you love Stripe, but you’ve had what, nine? _Ten_ Stripes now? What makes me any different? What makes me… fuck, now I’m comparing myself to a fucking _guinea pig_!” Tweek shrieks, his green eyes blazing, “what have you done to me, Craig? God… you’ve got me wondering if. If, like. Like if I was _enough_ , you wouldn’t have looked somewhere else and… and…”

Craig shakes his head, ‘cause _fuck_.

That’s not it, _that’s not it at all_.

“I _wasn’t_ looking, honest,” he says, urgent and fast, “I didn’t even consider Kenny like that until we kissed, which was a mistake!”

“What changed then?”

“I don’t know – I mean, we still hung out afterward, so… I just. Started noticing stupid shit, like how _good_ he was with Tricia. And how nice he was with my mom. And he always asked about _you_ , wanted updates and shit, but not ‘cause it was polite, but ‘cause he actually gave a shit – I just. He was so cool a-and he just kept asking _me_ if I was okay. And I thought that was dumb, ‘cause I was fine… you were the one he should’ve been asking, but. But all he did was ask if I needed anything a-and. And I don’t know, I just. I liked… that he was asking me that kinda shit,” Craig rambles because he’s not even capable of stopping himself.

“Craig…”

“And maybe, I don’t know, maybe I liked the attention? ‘Cause I’m a selfish fuck who just… I just missed you, y’know? And suddenly, Kenny’s around all the time giving me all the attention that you used to give me and. And I guess I forgot how much I enjoyed it. Fuck.”

“So,” Tweek begins, his voice still pitched with pain, “so what, you like me because I give you attention?”

Craig curses under his breath, frustrated with himself and his inability to just _fucking_ get the words out.

To just.

Say the _right_ fucking words at all.

“No,” he says, leaning into Tweek’s space and grasping at his fiancé’s hands tightly, “god, I’m doing this all wrong, but I _swear_ honey, I’m not just using you for attention! You give me so much more than that. You make me feel so happy, so good about. About everything. Do you know how, how lonely I feel at Aurora without you? A-And it’s not the attention I miss, it’s your _everything_ babe. I feel like. Like if you’re there, beside me, I can do anything and without you, I’m _nothing_. Please, believe me!”

“I wish I could!” Tweek shrieks, tearing himself away from Craig, “but I—”

“Babe, _please_ —”

“—I can’t help but think,” Tweek carries on, before he pauses and stifles a sob, “ _nngh_ , if it was _me_. A-And _Kenny_ , chained to that wall… I don’t. Who would you choose to save? Me? ‘Cause I don’t think you would.”

“No, honey no,” Craig denies as he slides to the ground, forcing himself into the gap between Tweek and the sofa. Their knees knock together and Craig’s cups Tweek’s face gently, “I’d pick you, every fucking time. I love you. I _love_ you – fuck, babe, I don’t. I can’t. Fuck, I’m so bad at this.” He sighs and leans down to rest his forehead against Tweek’s, rubbing their noses sweetly together. “I love you. I’ve never loved anything like you and. And I don’t think I ever will.”

“I just,” Tweek utters, gripping his hair tightly, “I can’t _stop_ thinking about… about who you would _pick_ and. And I don’t think it would be _me_ —”

“You,” Craig interjects heatedly, reaching up to softly tug Tweek’s fingers free from his hair, “I will _always_ pick you. I. I’ve been a really bad boyfriend and a shitty fiancé – please, please trust that I would ever choose someone over you.”

“I’m sorry,” Tweek says, curling his fingers around Craig’s, “but I just feel like an idiot. Like, everyone _knew_ this big fucking secret and maybe Butters was the punchline, but I’m the one everyone looked at with pity… god, what if they’ve been laughing at me this whole time!”

“No one’s been laughing at you Tweek,” Craig insists, because he can see his fiancé spiraling and it’s truly distressing to see, “they don’t pity you and they’re not laughing at you. Think about it, how could they ever laugh at you when _I’m_ the asshole who… who turned into his fucking _dad_. Cheating and… and _lying_ and. And. And _fuck_.”

‘Cause that’s always been one of his _biggest_ fears.

He loves his dad… but he’d rather die than become him.

A cheater.

A liar.

Someone who destroys happy relationships and families.

 _Fuck_.

“I. I don’t know what to think right now,” Tweek bemoans, their conjoined hands falling from his hair to rest upon his lap, “I don’t know if I _can_ think right now.”

Craig opens his mouth, but then.

He figures he’s said enough for one night.

His throat hurts and his chest feels _tight_ ; the cold air of the lodge still bites at his skin, but honestly? Dying of hypothermia is _nothing_ compared to the prospect of losing Tweek now. He rests on his haunches and he waits, stroking his thumbs over Tweek’s knuckles as the blond chews his lip.

Tweek twitches, his body trembles as his eyes flit from side-to-side as he mulls over his thoughts.

“You… you’ll always pick me?” he asks, throwing the question out like he can’t quite stop himself.

“Yes,” Craig affirms quickly, ‘cause it’s true, it’s always been true, “I have so far and I always will.”

Tweek nods, but his face his clouded over, his eyes hooded and shadowed.

He looks.

He looks.

 _Fuck_ , Craig doesn’t even _know_ how he looks!

Craig curses himself for his inability to read his fiancé; Tweek can read him so easily, without a second thought and he. He can’t. He can’t even tell if Tweek is gonna break up with him or if he’s gonna stay with him. He honestly can’t even _tell_ if the emotions on the blond’s face are sad ones, or angry ones…

Fuck.

God.

He’s the utter worst.

But he can’t… he doesn’t know what to say anymore. Everything he’s said so far has been wrong – he’s just caused more distress and anxiety for his darling fiancé and. And he doesn’t think he even deserves to marry Tweek. ‘Cause he clearly can’t learn his lesson.

He still can’t communicate properly.

Lessons beaten into him at age ten have clearly been left behind, along with his dumb superhero costume and Tweek’s worn fidget spinners.

He chews his lip and feels… feels that he can’t take it anymore.

The silence.

The waiting.

He just.

 _Needs_ to know.

“Tweek,” Craig utters, his voice pitched and breaking, “babe, tell me what you’re thinking. Please?”

There’s a tiny beat of silence, before Tweek’s body deflates with a tiny sigh breaking free from his lips.

“I’m thinking… I’m thinking that I can’t marry someone I don’t trust,” Tweek says, twisting the ring on his finger fretfully. Craig’s heart freezes in his chest, his eyes wide in horror as he breath catches in his throat. But. But then Tweek leaves it on his finger and glances up, slightly soft but mostly serious.

“Honey! You—”

“So, you better _prove_ to me that… that trusting you _now_ isn’t a mistake,” Tweek says, his eyes unyielding and firm. They’re wet with unshed tears, but he’s never looked more determined – Craig’s not sure what kinda thought process his fiancé has gone through, but he’s never been more grateful in all his life.

“I will,” he promises, quick and without hesitation, as he nods jerkily, “I won’t let you down, not again.”

Tweek snorts and gazes steadily at Craig. “You will,” he says wryly, _knowingly_ , “but not to this extent. And I’ll let you down, and we’ll hurt each other and fall out, but. But we’re really good at getting back together, right?”

“I don’t want to keep getting back together though,” Craig says, furrowing his brows, “I want to just _stay_ together.”

“Then _talk_ to me, like you did just then,” Tweek orders, tapping Craig sharply on the cheekbone, “about, _nngh_ , about anything that bothers you or worries you. And. And when you tell me, you can’t omit details, ‘cause. ‘Cause then you’re _hiding_ and _lying_ and. And I can’t take that! I took it from my parents for years, please don’t make me take it from you too.”

“You won’t,” Craig promises, shifting to press himself closer against Tweek – god, he’s never felt his heart race so fast, it’s making him kinda light-headed, “I promise honey, from now on, you’ll never have to doubt me agai—”

“Oh god, stop that,” Tweek interjects, which has Craig freezing instantly – fuck, he doesn’t know where he stands in his relationship anymore, shit. It’s his own fault, he fucked up and now he has to deal with the consequences, but goddammit. He… he fucking hates uncertainty. Craig thrives in facts, in solid evidence, in actualities – this. This is. Not good. “I don’t want you to promise me that kinda stuff.”

“But Tweek—” Craig begins, but he’s cut off again when Tweek holds a finger to his lips.

“Don’t make weird promises like that,” he says, like a teacher, like a _parent_ , “instead, promise me this: when this trip is over, you’re going to see Dr Goodall.”

Craig blanches instantly.

Fuck.

Tweek’s shrink, seriously?

“Yeah, my shrink,” Tweek confirms, proving Craig’s point right about his fiancé being able to read his mind, “because… because what you said about… about turning into your _dad_ kinda concerns me. And… and I think she’ll be good for us. I mean, she’s no Mr Mackey, we won’t get to beat up any kids… but I think it’ll be good anyway?”

“I… are you sure?” Craig says, insecurity creeping into his tone.

Tweek nods – he looks more confident, more _sure_ of himself, which has Craig feeling more at ease too. He latches onto Tweek’s steady aura and tries to soak some of it in – he leans into his fiancé’s body and sighs, feeling heavy with exhaustion.

“Okay,” he murmurs quietly, all traces of a fight leaving him, “I’ll see her. I… I can look at my timetable, see if there’s a day where I’m not in college? I’ll… drive back down and we can go see her.”

He shivers as Tweek threads his fingers through his damp hair.

“Thank you,” his fiancé says, “but. You know this doesn’t fix everything, I’m _not_ forgiving you, not yet. You really hurt me Craig, and you hurt Kenny too. _Argh_ , I’m not even that mad at him anymore, I just feel. Like, I still want to punch him for trying to steal you away from me, but. But I kinda want to hug him too, because I just feel. Sad? I guess, for him? And Butters. Because he’s been, _gah_ , killed and he didn’t deserve that.”

Craig nods, “I know,” he says, the guilt curdling his stomach thickly.

“I’m _not_ blaming you,” Tweek is quick to add, brushing away the tears which gather in Craig’s eyes, “I just… I just feel awful, b-because if he _had_ lived, then that. That would’ve meant _your_ death and I don’t. It’s _not_ relief, I swear, but. But I don’t know how I feel.”

“I feel awful too,” Craig says quietly, “because he was our friend, but I begged Kenny to save me, like I was worth saving more. And it still hurts that I wasn’t picked, and now it hurts that I still _feel_ hurt by his choice.”

Tweek sniffs and nods.

“Feelings suck.”

“Yeah – my feelings for _you_ don’t though.”

“Sap,” Tweek comments, before he rests against Craig with a small sigh, “thank you for finally telling me the truth.”

The guilt in Craig’s stomach is marbled by light-hearted relief that Tweek isn’t going to leave him, isn’t as mad at him anymore. But still, his emotions churn and swim in his stomach, leaving him feeling nauseated and tired.

He leans back against the sofa and gently brings Tweek with him; he thinks about being _truthful_ and _honest_ and can’t help but think about. About going to college and Tweek staying behind. About Tricia asking Tweek about college applications and Tweek brushing her off.

About those brochures under his bed.

About his boyfriend having secrets too… and yeah, his secrets were a totally different calibre, but. Perhaps now is the time to ask? ‘Cause he’s pretty sure he knows _why_ Tweek’s not told him about Julliard and he _wants_ to reassure him that. That he can go. That he can’t let anything hold him back from achieving his dreams.

But he’s on thin ice.

And he doesn’t want it to break.

So, Craig mulls over his words and picks them carefully – for once.

“Hey honey… if. If we’re being honest, then. Then can I ask about those Julliard brochures under our bed?” he asks, cocking his head as Tweek shifts and settles on his lap. His fiancé snorts and presses his face into the crook of Craig’s neck – his eyelashes brush wetly against Craig’s pulse, but his cheeks are warm, and his hair is soft.

“Don’t push it,” Tweek says, and Craig can feel his fiancé smile into his skin. It’s warm and makes Tweek’s voice sounds all soft and gentle, “I. I _will_ tell you – just. Not now. When we get back home, I will. I promise.”

“Okay honey,” Craig says, pulling Tweek tight against them as they enjoy their stolen moment. The oddly calm silence is broken by Kyle and Cartman’s bickering from the kitchen – he can’t even dredge up the energy to be irritated though, so he just ignores them. Instead, he revels in the comforting weight of Tweek’s body against his, the warmth seeping into him deep and. And he bites his lip, ‘cause fuck.

He’s forgotten how fucking cold he is.

He curls himself tighter against Tweek, shifts to tuck his legs underneath him and buries his face into Tweek’s blond hair. Christ, why the hell didn’t the psycho dress him first? Like, dying in just in boxers would’ve. It would’ve.

Sucked.

‘Cause.

‘Cause Butters got to be all dressed.

And now he’s.

He’s.

Oh shit.

Butters is dead.

Butters is fucking dead.

Butters got to be all dressed up and now he’s fucking dead.

Wearing his stupid teal turtleneck and his skinny fucking jeans with the holes in all the wrong places.

 _More holes in his clothes now though,_ hisses an invasive thought, which has Craig lurching forwards and gagging simultaneously, ‘cause seriously, what the ever-loving fuck?

“Are you okay?” Tweek is quick to ask, peering at Craig’s face with light worry shining in his eyes.

“I’m fine— wait,” Craig cuts himself off, closes his eyes and sighs – telling the truth, he’s gotta get better at telling the fucking truth, “no. I just saw Butters die and I don’t think. I don’t think I’ve really processed it yet. I mean, I guess that means I’m in shock?”

Tweek nods. “Thank you for telling me. So, when it hits you,” he says, visibly blanching when his hand touches the dried blood on Craig’s face, _“oh_ _god_ , um, please let me know – I want to be there for you.”

“Okay,” Craig murmurs, feeling his skin crawl already – fuck. He has _Butters’_ blood on him, oh fucking Christ, it’s all dry and crusted on his goddamn skin and in his hair and fuck. Oh fuck, he has Butters’ blood _on him_.

He shivers as Tweek gently brushes his hair, his lips down-turned with repulsion as he tugs lightly on the strands which are glued together by. By. Oh god, he can’t even _think_ it anymore.

His body trembles and he feels Tweek sigh against him.

“I should start a fire, I don’t want you getting sick,” his fiancé says, beginning to pull away from Craig, but fuck, he’s not ready for it. He clings onto Tweek and refuses to let the blond escape his clutches.

“I’m warm enough,” he reassures Tweek, “just… stay here, for a second longer?”

Tweek hums as he melts back against Craig. “If you’re sure – I mean, you’re not turning blue and your heartrate seems steady, so. Okay, but we do need to leave at some point,” he says, “I don’t like the thought of our friends wandering around when. When someone is out there who could hurt them. I… we should go help. If you’re feeling okay, that is!”

“I’m fine,” Craig says, tracing the pale blue lapels of Tweek’s pyjamas, “I’m kinda worried about Clyde, honestly. I’ve never seen him look so angry… we should probably go after him.”

Tweek nods and squirms in Craig’s grip, twisting slightly away – Craig’s about to protest, but then Tweek cranes his neck and peers over at the clock on the wall. His face pales and his soft expression instantly falls apart.

“Shit,” he curses, as he reads the time, “I… is that the time? Oh god, I forgot to take my meds, _nngh_ , how could I _forget_?”

“Are they upstairs?” Craig asks, worry threading through his words as he cups Tweek’s face.

“Yeah. Come on, I’m gonna take them – and you,” Tweek says, standing up and pulling Craig along with him. He pauses and eyes Craig with thinly-veiled disgust; Craig has to cling onto the notion that it’s the blood which is creeping Tweek out and not Craig himself, “need to get washed and dressed. Fuck, this is so unhygienic, you better not have any open wounds, shit, we need to get you in a shower quickly. Unless you _want_ to run around in blood and boxers?”

Craig snorts. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks, arching a brow.

“Funnily enough, I’m not interested in marrying a hypothermic patient, especially one covered in our friend’s blood,” Tweek comments with a wince, leading Craig towards the stairs with their pinkies linked. Craig feels himself gag again, quells the urge to claw his skin off and throws Tweek an indulgent smirk.

“I’d be a pretty cute patient though, right?”

“Craig, you’d be _dying_.”

“Yeah, I’d be cute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KYLE AND CARTMAN HAVE GROWN CLOSER  
>  **KYLE AND CARTMAN HAVE DISCOVERED THE SECOND BASEMENT  
>  **KYLE HAS DISCOVERED THE BUTTERS WASN'T DATING CHARLOTTE******
> 
> ********CRAIG TOLD TWEEK THE TRUTH – TWEEK’S MENTAL HEALTH IS STABILISING  
>  **THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS STRAINED BUT STILL INTACT**** ** ** **
> 
> ************~~STAN AND JIMMY HAVE FOUND THE BOX IN UNCLE BUDD’S CLOSET – DO THEY:~~   
>  **~~\- OPEN IT~~   
>  **~~\- LEAVE IT ALONE~~ ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> ******************CLYDE’S ANKLE IS TRAPPED IN A BEAR TRAP  
>  **THEY CAN HEAR STRANGE NOISES IN THE WOODS  
>  ** ~~WHAT SHOULD WENDY DO?~~  
>  ** ~~\- INVESTIGATE THE NOISES~~  
>  ** ~~\- HELP FREE CLYDE FROM THE TRAP~~********** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> ****************************YOUR CHOICE HAS BEEN MADE** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **


	12. ACT ONE: Kyle VIII | Stan II | Wendy III | Craig V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note: There are implications of child abuse, gaslighting and mental manipulation/hypnosis in Stan’s section. There is also a scene of PTSD in Craig’s section.**

**2.39AM**

“He… he wasn’t dating Charlotte?” Kyle asks weakly.

Cartman snorts before he shakes his head shortly.

“Nope,” he says with a pop, “he thought it would stop his parents from asking weird questions about his sexuality. Dumb asshole thought it would also get everyone to back off and leave him and his stupid crush on Kenny alone. Bastard should’ve picked a better lie than, _my girlfriend who lives in Canada_ , huh?”

Kyle blinks and feels himself sway as the revelation washes over him; part of him wants to feel hurt that Butters could trust goddamn Cartman with the truth and not him, but part of him just feels sad that Butters had to concoct this whole fucking lie, this whole _other life_ , because his friends were that shitty and untrustworthy.

Still.

It’s a lot to take in.

“But… but…” he trails off, wracking his brain through his memories over the years, “I’ve seen him talk to her! Seen texts and shit!” Butters was so proud of getting back together with Charlotte, would show her off at every opportunity and though they were far and few between, he would often include her in video calls or online gaming sessions. Shit, Kyle remembers enough to know that Butters is a better actor than anyone ever gave him credit… or…

“Yeah, they were still friends,” Cartman says with a shrug, “so she didn’t mind playing Canadian beard.”

Kyle nods to himself because that kinda makes sense – Charlotte’s always been pretty chill, once the dust had settled after the whole… Gender War his dad had instigated. He’s only spoken to her a few times, but he’s always found her nice and smart, with a good sense of humour – he thought she had been a good fit for Butters, with her gently patience complementing his cheery disposition perfectly. He thought it had been a good thing for Butters, to help him get over Kenny, but. But.

Damn.

“Right, well,” he says, closing his eyes momentarily, “that blows my fucking mind.”

“Doesn’t take much, huh,” Cartman sniggers, quirking his brows as a sharp smirk flickers across his face. Kyle rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his chest.

“Shut up dude,” he spits back before he cocks his head and furrows his brows, because… well, if Butters lied about being with Charlotte, then he must’ve lied about… “I thought he was living with her.”

“Nope,” Cartman pops, shoving his hands into his pockets as he rocks on his heels – he exudes a smug aura and Kyle feels his nerves prickle instinctively.

“So…” Kyle drawls thoughtfully, “where the fuck has he been staying, ‘cause it wasn’t in South Park. Stan says he hasn’t seen the guy in a while.”

“Well, if I was a betting man, and trust me, _I am_ ,” Cartman winks and good god, it makes Kyle want to punch him, “I would put my money and Butters being… here.” He gestures to the lodge with a shrug and Kyle glances around with a furrowed brow.

“Here… in the lodge?” he asks.

“No, here in the moment— fucking hell Kyle, _yes_ , I mean here in the lodge, goddammit!”

Kyle holds up his hands and rolls his eyes; damn, he knew Cartman has a short fuse, but this is just ridiculous. Still, it hadn’t just been irritation lacing Cartman’s words together – there had been a strained sort of exhaustion underlining his tone. Kyle bites his lip as he watches Cartman sigh and turn away, picking distantly at bric-a-brac on a nearby table. For the first time, he wonders if. Well. If Cartman feels weird about being back at the lodge.

‘Cause like. This place kinda acted as the catalyst for his whole psychological journey towards healthiness – and sure, no amount of sympathy ought to be wasted on the guy, but Kyle can’t help but feel a pang of _something_ , ‘cause like. What must it be like, knowing that no one can tolerate your existence, that not even _Kenny McCormick_ has the patience to stand your presence… fuck, no amount of therapy can make up for all the shit Cartman’s pulled over the years… and really, the only person who has consistently forgiven him has been…

Well.

 _Butters_.

And shit, all Kyle’s done is talk about Butters, which most likely didn’t help Cartman’s current state – goddammit, Cartman had been so fucked up when Kenny had told everyone about Butters dying and here Kyle is, fucking interrogating the guy about their recently deceased friend. Dammit, Timmy’s right again; he _is_ a dumbass bitch.

 _Change the subject?_ Imaginary Ike asks lightly.

Change the subject, Kyle agrees tiredly.

He buries his nose into the lapel of Cartman’s jacket and breathes in deep, taking in the scent of cheap chips and expensive cologne. It’s an irritatingly comforting scent, probably because of its familiarity, but Kyle buries deeper into it anyway. He thinks about what to say to break the silence, to disrupt the tension – he tries to focus on easier ground, normal ground.

Ground like… teenage drama bullshit.

Kyle considers asking Cartman about Craig and Tweek, but he supposes enough time has been dedicated to their drama – at least, Kenny has spent enough time being tangled up with them. He thinks about asking Cartman about Harvard, but even that seems tricky to navigate and he sure as shit knows that the asshole wouldn’t be interested in Stanford. He wonders about Token and Nichole, Bebe and Heidi – he hates that his friends are scattered and questions what is says about him that he’s just eager to have them gathered up under one roof where he can keep an eye on them.

And then.

He thinks about Stan. And Wendy. And Stan _and_ Wendy.

Kyle wets his dry lips as he thinks about how healthy Stan had looked when he had first arrived, how pretty Wendy had looked outside, how… well, beautiful they both looked by the fire. Kyle feels his stomach twist and he finds himself squirming on the spot, because now he has Kenny’s voice in his head taunting him about _tall, dark and handsome_ and _polyamory_ and.

Like.

Well.

 _Dude, are you blushing right now?_ Imaginary Ike teases and Kyle hitches his shoulders up higher because he knows his cheeks are prickling with heat and goddammit, he just wants to change the subject, not get ragged on. Plus, he’s like. Curious and shit.

So.

“Hey,” he begins, hesitant and considering, because this is the kinda shit he would _never_ ask Cartman; like Stan and Kenny, sure – Ike, at a push, but Cartman? Fuck, he is so clearly fucking desperate, “do you think Stan and Wendy _like_ , like me?”

There’s a very telling beat of silence which just screams discomfort and disbelief. Kyle can only summon up enough courage to give Cartman a fleeting glance – he looks irate, but _deeply_ so, which is odd because he had figured Cartman would find the question annoying, but not incensing. And sure enough, the asshole wrinkles his nose and turns away with a scowl.

“Who gives a shit?” Cartman scoffs, his tone sharply derisive.

“I do!” Kyle says, throwing his hands up, “I didn’t think— I mean, I know _Kenny_ is all free-spirited and like, all about open-relationships, but _Stan_? And like, _Wendy_? She killed someone for liking Stan, it doesn’t make any sense, right?”

“Weak,” Cartman hisses, glaring at Kyle over his shoulder, “dude, just go fucking ask them.”

“I can’t do that—” Kyle protests hotly.

“Shut up dude,” Cartman interjects loudly, “just quit bugging me about that shit.”

Kyle frowns at the fierce defensive tone and wonders why Cartman suddenly doesn’t want to force his way into someone’s personal business. Dude likes worming his way into everyone’s shit, so to see him shy away from potential juicy shit is… strange, to say the least.

So.

He… well, he drops it with a muttered curse and sourly congratulates himself on such a successful subject change.

Instead of attempting another, he walks around the basement to see what information he can gather; there are still so many questions running through his mind and he hasn’t had a single one answered yet. All he’s gotten so far is that Cartman moonlights as a drag queen and Butters’ grand romance with Charlotte was just a lie to keep his parents from discovering his huge boner for Kenny.

“God help me,” Kyle sighs, pinching his eyes shut as he feels a headache ripple in the back of his mind. He doesn’t understand why his friends are all being so ridiculous, like puberty hit them at least four years ago, why is everyone a hormonal fucking mess right now?

 _Like you can talk_ , Imaginary Ike snickers meanly, _or have you already forgotten asking Cartman, of all people, if Stan and Wendy have a crush on you_? Kyle sighs and rolls his eyes, because yeah, okay, he’s a hypocrite – fucking _sue_ him. Goddammit, he closes his eyes and tries to summon up some willpower to not just throw all this bullshit to the wind and storm out of this lodge to leave his dumb friends to their devices.

Okay.

No.

Getting angry, time to chill the fuck out – remember, he’s doing this for Butters, to get justice for Butters and by extension, Kenny and Craig too. He needs to figure out who is behind this shit, needs to hunt down the psycho who dared to hurt _his_ friends and rain some serious punishment upon them. To do that though, he needs information and fast. Kyle’s a fucking sponge for knowledge and right now he feels fucking parched: where’s Uncle Budd, is he really behind this, why’s his room so fucked up and _has_ Butters really been living with him? One of the biggest issues bugging him about everything, however, is the case of Butters’ parents.

How the fuck does Stephen and Linda Stotch fit in all this bullshit?

The question weighs heavily on him and not even his Imaginary Ike can summon up a remark. Kyle hums thoughtfully and absently plays with a loose thread in Cartman’s jacket before he turns to the guy and regards him carefully – he normally has his fingers in all the damn pies, knows everything about everyone, so if… if anyone has any dirt on Butters’ parents, it has to be him, right?

“Hey,” he utters slowly, cocking his head when Cartman flicks an arched brow at him, “dude, can you remember the last time you saw Butters’ parents? Like, they weren’t there at graduation, so…”

“Yeah, no – they don’t live in South Park anymore.”

“What?”

“My mom, I got her to give me updates on them and she told me they haven’t been seen since, I don’t know, last Christmas? Guess what happened to Butters really did a number on them, so they left town.”

“You… did what?” Kyle asks, his eyes wide as he takes in Cartman’s sheepish expression.

“I told my mom to keep an eye on Butters’ parents,” he repeats with a shrug, “after last year, I figured it was the least I could do. I mean, we all know Butters’ parents are fucking shit-balls but come on. Any of our asshole parents would’ve seen the funny side in that shit… they didn’t need to threaten him, Christ.”

“Dude, they wouldn’t have threatened him if you hadn’t humiliated him like that!” Kyle argues, a deep furrow appearing between his brows.

“It wasn’t me,” Cartman forces out the protest behind gritted teeth, averting his eyes uncomfortably, “I mean, it _was_ , ‘cause no one else could pull that shit off like me, but… it was like, something else had taken control of me. It was like that movie, _Get Out_ , except with less black people and more hypnosis.”

“You’re making literally no sense,” Kyle says flatly, except he can kinda understand what Cartman is saying… because he remembers talking toys and voices inside Cartman’s head telling him to do shit. He remembers Mitch Connor and all the dumb fucking stunts his friend would pull, like talking to thin air and ‘murdering’ his toys out of spite.

Still.

“Is that what the meds are for?” he asks instead, thinking about what he saw earlier.

Cartman’s lips curl up slowly. “Oh, I do love seeing that little ginger brain of yours at work,” he comments, causing Kyle to growl softly. He holds up his hands and nods, “but yeah, that’s what they’re for.”

He looks embarrassed, but honestly, Kyle feels slightly proud.

Cartman’s folly has always been his stubbornness and pride and seeing him like this does weirdly funny things to Kyle’s heart. He opens his mouth to ask more about the meds, about what they are and what they do, and what they’re for specifically, but… he figures he needs to take baby steps with this shit.

 _He ain’t taking them though_ , his Imaginary Ike whispers, _he told Kenny he was cutting down, so you better swallow that restraint fast, broski_. Kyle inwardly flinches as he considers these words, ‘cause like… he isn’t a therapist, he’s never been prescribed shit, but cutting down has to be a bad thing, right? Especially when he remembers Kenny’s reactions and the fact that Cartman’s been drinking as well.

So.

Like.

Should he _say_ something?

Would that be a good idea or just the worst thing to do right now, when he’s in such close quarters with the unpredictable bastard? Like, is the timing right, or do they have bigger things to worry about right now, ‘cause like. The guy _seems_ to be doing okay, but does that mean bad shit is just around the corner? Kyle flexes his clammy palms and feels torn on the issue; any other day, he would confront the bastard with little fanfare, but now? Tonight of all nights? Seems. Well. Not right.

Regardless, Cartman looks embarrassed, but his tone had been sweetly soft, and Kyle can’t quite forget the sound of it so easily, so…

“You’re good,” he says, flushing hotly when Cartman arches a brow at him, “I mean, _it’s_ good. That you’re getting help. I mean, you’ve always needed help, so it’s good to see you… getting help. Taking meds. Talking to people. Good. Yeah. Cool.”

Cartman snorts and gazes down at Kyle as he babbles helplessly.

“Cool,” Cartman echoes lowly. Kyle swallows hard as he gazes up into those dark eyes - the flashing hues of red and lilac leaves Kyle’s heart in fluttering disarray. 

_Fuck_ though. One good deed doesn’t undo years of systematic abuse and bullying; he may have given as good as he got, but Cartman’s always been on another level of batshit crazy and… well, Kyle supposes it’s a start. Dude’s gotta start being better at some point – getting his head screwed on right is a good first step, but he’s got a long way to go to really make up for all his past bullshit.

Either way, Kyle just wishes his heart could be half as logical as his head.

“Right, well,” he utters out as he turns on his heel and stalks towards the shelves – he feels Cartman’s eyes following him as he walks away, but he doesn’t know why he’s so acutely attuned to the guy. He wets his lips nervously and busies himself picking at random objects on the shelves.

There’s a snow-globe with the skyline of the Rocky Mountains inside it; as Kyle picks it up, he spies a tiny photo of Butters with an arm around a grinning Charlotte. The photo must have been taken on an adorable vacation and honestly, it has Kyle’s heart breaking all over again. He shakes the globe softly and smiles as snow flutters around the pair – he knows Charlotte needs to be told, regardless of their relationship. His eyes are focused on the pair, but his ears prick up when Cartman finally moves from his spot and wanders away.

Kyle swallows and places the snow-globe back, his attention torn between focusing on Cartman and _not_ focusing on Cartman. His eyes drift across the shelf, taking in the odd collection of ornaments and belongings. There are bottles of yellowed perfume and dusty books on engineering and psychology – nothing makes sense, why would Uncle Budd have any of this shit in his hidden goddamn basement? Why hide an innocent snow-globe? Why have outdated perfume bottles?

Goddammit – suddenly, every interaction with Uncle Budd flies through Kyle’s mind. Every lingering touch on Butters’ shoulder, every sly threat to not mess up his lodge, every sly chuckle and wicked smirk; the memories all leave a sour taste on Kyle’s tongue, heavy and lasting. How could they have missed all the signs, all the flags, everything which had pointed to Uncle Budd being a fucked-up bastard?

And.

Well.

Where the fuck is he right now? Is he stalking the cabin? Does he just… hang out in the woods, watching them and shit? ‘Cause last year, it had taken a couple of hours, _at least_ , for the asshole to turn up and by then, Butters had been—

“Ooh, trippy,” Cartman remarks from behind him, cutting across his thoughts sharply.

Kyle blinks and peers over his shoulder to see Cartman hunched over a table, his arms clearly holding something. He drums his fingers thoughtfully on his thighs before he finds himself being drawn towards Cartman – his own curiosity won’t allow him to resist, never mind the prickling feeling of being left out of the loop again.

He pads towards Cartman, tucking the red jacket tighter across his body and peers over the brunet’s shoulder.

“What the fuck is this?” Kyle asks, looking at the thick file in Cartman’s hands – his eyes widen as he takes in the size of the documents, with sheaves of paper sticking out. He watches as Cartman brushes the dust from the cover and finds himself tracking the movements with odd fascination – he’s not noticed it before, but Cartman’s nails are manicured and his hands look weirdly soft.

Kyle wonders why the guy so clearly keeps his fingers pretty – especially when, according to Wendy, no one is fucking interested.

But then.

Maybe it’s less to do with Cartman and more to do with Bad Irene, and—

“Adoption papers,” Cartman answers finally, his voice pitched with curiosity.

“How do you know?” Kyle frowns, glancing up at the guy with an arched brow.

Cartman shoots him a dry look, “I once tried to get President Garrison to adopt me – I figured it would be a quicker way of assuring total domination of America, instead of going through the whole process of corrupting the voting system and shit.”

Kyle blinks, “really?”

“No, you dumb fucking— Christ, Kyle,” Cartman points at the file with an incredulous scoff, “it says it right here: _Adoption Order_.”

Kyle glances down and sure enough, the words are embossed across the thick file in harsh black lettering. He feels himself flush for missing such an important detail out – honestly, he had been so distracted by Cartman’s hands and he really doesn’t want to explain why he had overlooked the words on the file.

Instead, he says, “fuck off,” sheepishly and kicks at Cartman’s ankle – he feels his cheeks prickle hotly as Cartman begins to chuckle lowly behind him, but he refuses to dignify the asshole with any further response. Instead, he scours the basement for anything else to inspect; they’ve already checked out the shelves, the boxes, the weird-ass make-up collection, there’s been very little else to uncover.

Fuck.

He’s kinda stuck then.

“So,” he says, reluctantly returning his attention to Cartman as he gestures to the file with a short nod, “are we gonna read that, or what?”

“Urgh,” Cartman groans, his body deflating heavily, “Kyle, there’s so much here, it will take forever – can’t we just go back upstairs, re-join the other assholes, get something to eat instead?” then it’s like a switch is flicked, as he peers at Kyle with scrutiny, “don’t you know that splitting up means certain death in these kinda situations – I ain’t dying tonight Kyle, not on the same night as someone else!”

Kyle rolls his eyes – because of course, an attention-seeker like Cartman needs all the spotlight, even in death. He shoves his hands deep inside the pockets of the jacket and rocks on his heels as he considers his options…

* * *

**STAN CHOSE TO OPEN THE BOX**

**2.19AM**

“Alright Jimmy,” Stan says, already regretting his decision, “break it open.”

He sets the box down and gestures to it invitingly – he shifts back a little to give Jimmy room and winces when the guy instantly smacks at the box with his crutch. There’s no finesse, no technique, just Jimmy and his strong arms, whaling on the locked box.

Stan winces when he sees the dents, but his heart leaps when he spies the tiny crack made in the surface of the wood – he guesses Jimmy doesn’t really give a shit about the lock and cares more about breaking the fucker open.

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Stan mutters when the crack gets larger as Jimmy slams his crutch into the wood once again.

“In the grand scheme of things,” Jimmy says, panting lightly as he lifts up his crutch and sends it flying down to crush into the box once more, “a little vandalism isn’t the worst crime to take place tonight.”

Stan opens his mouth to argue that _enough_ crime has been committed tonight, but then he sees a sliver of the box’s contents and sits on his haunches excitedly, “holy shit, do it again,” he encourages, eyes widening eagerly when Jimmy’s crutch breaks through the lid finally. Stan curses softly as Jimmy steps backwards, panting and rolling his shoulders back from exertion, “nice going,” Stan praises.

“I aim to puh-puhh— I aim to— aim to please,” Jimmy winks, his cheeks faintly pink as he grins broadly.

Stan shakes his head and reaches out to the box, snapping off pieces of wayward wood to reach inside. He frowns as his fingers hit a solid object, then something smaller, then something glossy – there’s a number of items lurking inside, and he shakes his head as he withdraws his hand. He picks the box up and tips it upside down – the hole is instantly blocked with a thud, and Stan has to slide the object out to get the others to follow.

He frowns when he peers at the tape player in his hand, which has a pair of earphones dangling from it. The earphones are frayed and look well-used, whereas the player looks nondescript, with a cassette inside already loaded up. Stan hits the button which ejects the cassette and frowns when he sees that there’s nothing written down, nothing to indicate what’s on the tape.

“What the fuck,” Stan mutters, as he gingerly inspects the player, “what century is this dude from?”

He casts his eye over the other contents and feels every inch of him crawl with disgust – there’s a blindfold, a small silver key and. And a photo of Linda and Stephen? What the fuck is going on? Jimmy reaches over with a crutch and nudges the silver key before he flicks the photo of Linda and Stephen over – _all your fault_ is scribbled across the back and Stan feels his gut churn as he ponders the implications behind those three words.

He swallows and glances down at the player, “should I play it?” he queries softly.

“Duh,” Jimmy replies, rolling his eyes, drumming his fingers against his crutches.

“Right, yeah, cool,” Stan mutters, before he traces the play button with his finger – he’s not sure if he wants to listen to the tape. He kinda doesn’t want to have anything more to do with this room, this cabin, the whole fucking mountain, “cool, okay. Let’s… play this shit.”

He continues to trace the button.

And.

Jimmy clearly loses his patience with him.

“Time to grow a pair Stan!” he says, before he yanks the earphones out of the device and hits play before Stan’s ready, ‘cause he doesn’t think this is the greatest idea, nor is he really ready to hear whatever shit is about to—

‘ _You don’t need your friends. You don’t miss your parents. You’re mine. You don’t need anyone but me. I am the only person who will ever love you, who will ever want you—_ ’

Jimmy scowls and hits the button for the next track.

‘ _It was all your fault, all your fault. What happened is all your fault. It was all your—_ ’

Jimmy curses under his breath.

Hits the next track.

‘ _You’re my good boy, aren’t you? My good boy. My bunny. My Butters. Min—_ ’

Stan hits stop.

Drops the tape player like it’s hot and snaps his head around to vomit on the floor. It’s mostly soda and Cheesy Poofs, so it burns on the way up and stains the carpet in the most garish orange colour. It wreaks havoc on his throat as he hurls, his whole body seizing up as he clutches at the ground. Absently, he feels Jimmy pat him on the back using his crutch and it feels less comforting that the guy probably intended.

Stan gasps and chokes as tears gather in his eyes – his entire body aches and his mind just blanks out for a second, ‘cause what the fuck. Uncle Budd’s voice just continues to swim through his mind, rough and low, and Stan wants to rip his goddamn skin off and bathe in bleach. Goddammit – the words had just streamed out of the player, sliding through the air like oil, with Uncle Budd just continuously chanting that goddamn bullshit and holy shit.

Holy.

Fucking.

 _Shit_.

He gasps and pants as his body rocks over the puddle he’s just created – the acrid smell hits his nose and it has Stan gagging once again. He pushes himself upright and away from the mess, curling inwardly as he roughly swipes the mess from his mouth using the back of his hand. Just when he thought the night couldn’t get more fucked up, they had to find this fucking box with its fucking contents and listen to that fucking tape.

“Dude,” he chokes on a whine, glancing up at Jimmy with beseeching eyes, “what the _fuck_ is going on here?”

“I haven’t got the fuh-fuh-fuh— haven’t got the— got the— I haven’t got the fuhh— no fucking idea,” Jimmy replies, leaning against his crutches and flexing his hands as a thoughtful gleam flickers in his eyes, “but Kyle is right, very much. Uncle Budd is a creep.”

Stan feels his skin crawl and his eyes burn with unshed tears – just thinking this room and the kinda shit which had gone down here makes him want to find the nearest bottle and drown out his entire existence. Christ, Butters had— Uncle Budd had—

The fuck—

“That’s a goddamn understatement,” Stan utters, hugging himself tightly. His fingers curl around his arms, his nails clawing through his jacket as he tries to ground himself and quell the urge to vomit again, “like, we knew shit went down, right? I mean, we knew Butters said stuff, but we _all_ said stuff when we were, like… little and shit.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy echoes, peering past Stan’s shoulder and he knows, he fucking _knows_ , the guy is staring at Butters’ portrait on the wall, “little.”

Stan shakes his head and slowly, staggeringly, clambers to his feet. He has to rest against the wall as he stares down at the box, the tape player, the fucking blindfold – the photo of Butters’ parents makes no fucking sense, but nothing about tonight has made sense, so what the hell?

“We should… take this shit downstairs, right dude? Show the rest of the guys?” Stan suggests, glancing up at Jimmy, because he doesn’t know what to make of this, but maybe Kyle or Wendy’s found something which could link these weird-ass dots.

“Misery does love company,” Jimmy remarks before he finally tears his gaze away from the photo of Butters to look at Stan, “what do you think he muh-muh-meant by ‘ _all your fault_ ’? And why would he let Butters invite us back if he luh-luh— if he luh-luhh— if he _hates_ us so much?”

Stan shrugs because he came to this goddamn room for answers and all he has is more questions and enough trauma to see him through several more years of fucking therapy. Fuck, he’s never gonna be ready for college at this rate – so long veterinary dreams…

“Maybe Kyle is right then,” he says quietly, pursing his lips, “maybe Uncle Budd _is_ behind all this – dude probably wants to fuck us up ‘cause we fucked up Butters last year,” his frown deepens, “still doesn’t explain all this weird-ass shit he said about Butters’ parents though. They’re shitty, crazy parents, trust me, I get that – but why try and fucking… _hypnotise_ Butters into not loving them anymore? And what’s with the photo?”

Jimmy shrugs, “I couldn’t tell you – it seems the plot thickens, but you have to admit, it’s an interesting tuh-tuh— it’s an interesting— an interesting tuhh— tactic to choose.”

Stan snorts, “dude, I’ve had my fair share of shitty assholes using hypnosis to fuck people over,” he says, solemnly remembering Chef – damn, if only the dude had survived his encounter with that fruity club; their childhoods might not be so fucked up, “it’s weak dude. Über weak.”

“I guess the blindfold allows for easier muh-muh-manipulation,” Jimmy continues, ignoring Stan with irritating ease, “take away one sense and all the others become heightened, very much.”

“What, like fucking earphones weren’t enough to force Butters into hearing that shit?”

“Less distractions,” Jimmy clarifies, “without being able to see, Butters can only focus on one thing – that creepy tape.”

Stan deflates unhappily – goddammit, he just wants to take Wendy, take Kyle, and run far the fuck away from this goddamn mountain. He’ll even take Kenny too; the poor guy doesn’t deserve being stuck here surrounded by people who hate his goddamn guts.

He fingers the book inside his jacket and sighs heavily.

“Okay,” he says, and it takes him several goes to continue because his heart is beating a fierce fucking beat in his chest and he feels like such an idiot for worrying about Kyle’s blood pressure when his is about to go through the fucking roof, “but like, he blindfolds the dude, forces him to listen to that tape and—” he glances at the bed and remembers Kyle saying that there was something wrong with it. He gags as images fly through his mind, acrid vomit burning his throat as he pads towards the bed.

“And?” Jimmy prompts, the _snick-snick-snick_ of his crutches indicating that he’s followed Stan towards the bed. They both stand and stare at it in heavy silence as Stan scours it with repulsed eyes. He takes in the dusty furs, the dishevelled pillows and the… the…

“And ties him up,” he finishes quietly as he points at the silver chain resting innocently against the mattress – they can’t see much of it, but they’ve been exposed to enough shit to know what bondage-gear looks like.

Goddammit.

He guesses he knows what the key is for then.

As Jimmy curses, Stan dry-heaves and keels over – his hands clutch at his knees as his entire body contracts and tenses. His empty stomach clenches and churns painfully, his throat aches and his eyes burn as tears slowly slide down his cheeks. For a moment, he wishes Kyle had been more explicit in describing ‘stuff’ he found in Uncle Budd’s goddamn room.

He forces himself upright and slides his hands behind his head, fingers threading together through loose locks of messy hair – he takes several deep breaths and tries to remember what his AA counsellor had told him to do when shit gets… _intense_.

Funnily, he doesn’t think Mr Jeffries has a game-plan for relapsing during _this_ kinda situation.

Stan wets his lips and just _breathes_ , tries to force his mind to think about Wendy, to think about Kyle, or his mom or Shelley or Kenny, literally anyone but Uncle Budd and Butters inside this fucking hellhole of a bedroom. Jesus Christ – part of him wants to be mad at Wendy for persuading him to return to this fucking lodge, but then… he’s also really glad that he’s here with her too. He doesn’t want to think about her being alone here. Doesn’t want to think about her being trapped and hunted. She’s tough, for sure, but safety in numbers and all that jazz, right?

“Lighten up,” Jimmy says, breaking the heavy silence with his own heavy words – Stan isn’t sure when he’s last heard the normally cheerful guy sound so serious, “life could be wuh-wuh-worse.”

Stan blinks and cocks his head, feeling a flicker of faint irritation burn in his gut.

“What?” he utters, almost in disbelief.

Jimmy shrugs and sends him a fleeting glance – his honey-brown eyes look alarmingly sombre and Stan has to resist the urge to throw his arms around him in a tight hug. He’s not sure why, although it probably makes sense in hindsight, but he’s developed the desperate need to just _touch_ all of his friends tonight, just to make sure that they’re really there, that he isn’t alone, that they’re safe and shit.

For now.

“You asked me what the last thing I said to Butters was,” he clarifies, peering at the chain with a despondent sigh, “that was it.”

“Oh,” Stan utters hollowly, solid icy regret falling hard in his gut, “shit.”

“Yeah. Shit”

* * *

**WENDY CHOSE TO SAVE CLYDE**

**2.32AM**

Wendy is torn, as her ears prick up with every echoing crack in the distance, but her eyes are focused on the tears streaming down Clyde’s face. Logically, she knows this could be her only chance to investigate whoever is tormenting her friends, but also… she knows that leaving Clyde behind, alone and vulnerable, would be incredibly stupid.

It would also be incredibly detrimental to their friendship group. Wendy saw the cracks growing since Kenny and Craig returned from their ordeal – losing Butters has already damaged the trust, but to leave Clyde behind too?

Well, she would be practically signing the death sentence on her friendship with most of the boys.

“Okay,” Wendy nods, muttering to herself as – _CRACK_ – she makes her decision, “okay.”

“Please,” Clyde whines again, clutching as his leg as his body begins to shake, “I don’t want to be left alone!”

Wendy nods again and ducks down, brushing the snow away from the trap to investigate it – Clyde’s foot rests against the pan, with the two springs either side clearly visible. Though the teeth are incredibly sharp, the trap looks exactly like the ones she had seen last year on Wikipedia, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble freeing Clyde from this particular device.

“Okay,” she repeats to herself quietly before she glances up at Clyde – the cracks still ring loudly throughout the air, getting louder with each passing moment, “you have to remain calm, but most of all, you have to help me, okay? Work with me Clyde, don’t fight it and whatever you do – don’t scream.”

Clyde sniffs as his eyes snap past her shoulder when another loud noise echoes throughout the trees. He swipes at his face, leaving stains of blood to mingle with his tears and his visibly braces himself for what’s to come next.

“Okay,” he says thickly, “can’t promise I won’t scream, but I’ll try.”

Wendy rolls her eyes fondly, “thought you were the guy who could give any gal what she wanted.”

Clyde snorts wetly, “you need to manage your expectations – plus, you’re not always a gal, so…”

“Touché,” Wendy hums, her hands hovering over the springs as she narrows her eyes in concentration, “ready?”

Clyde nods and flinches when another _crack_ sounds behind Wendy’s back – it’s getting louder which means whatever is causing them is getting closer. Wendy absently croons soothing nonsense towards Clyde when she feels him vibrate in terror – she can’t do this when he’s tense, for it will only hurt more and will probably bleed more too. Judging from the stains on his jeans, Clyde has lost enough blood and with them being stuck on a snowy mountain, they don’t exactly have any on hand to help him replace what he’s missing.

She waits until he exhales a shuddering single breath and then she bears down on the springs to close them, compressing them with gritted teeth. Clyde emits a single shriek before he slams both hands over his own mouth, his eyes screwed shut as the trap begins to move around his caught limb. Wendy forces the springs down, her arms burning as the metal slowly begins to close underneath her own strength.

The jaws slowly open, with fresh blood beading out of the broken skin, but they’re opening and that’s the important thing. Wendy bites out a curse as she shuffles to her knees and bears her weight down – god, she has so many fucking words for Uncle Jimbo and not a single one of them would be held against her once people find out the actual fucking depths of his stupidity.

_CRACK!_

“Slip out,” Wendy bites out, flustered and urgent, when the jaws open enough to allow Clyde’s leg to wriggle free, “go _now_!” There’s another _crack_ , closer than the rest, and it spurs the trapped boy into action. Clyde chokes on his own pain as he scurries backwards, slipping his leg awkwardly out of the trap. Blood drips across the snow as his foot lands heavily on the ground, a low curse spilling from his lips as he falls backwards.

Wendy’s arms begin to shake as she quickly withdraws away from the trap – it snaps shut once again, but instead of dwelling on it, she hurries to Clyde’s side, her hands hovering over his leg. Without a trap in the way, she can see that the wounds are shallow, but they’re numerous and knowing Uncle Jimbo, the trap wouldn’t have been _brand new_ , so the sooner he gets medical attention, the better.

It sucks that they’re stuck on the mountain, but Butters’ Uncle Bud has to have something knocking about in the – oh _shit_. Wendy deflates when she remembers that Butters’ body still hangs in that fucking shack and come morning, they’ll have more than Clyde’s goddamn ankle to worry about. Sure, they have the whole weekend to themselves, but they can’t wait until Uncle Bud arrives on Monday to tell him about the unfortunate fate of his nephew.

Especially if he really _is_ the cause behind the unfortunate fate of his nephew.

“Goddammit,” Wendy mutters because she’s been caught in some shitty situations before, but this really takes the goddamn cake. Whatever the boys find, she hopes it’s solid enough to warrant a major ass-kicking. With that thought in mind, she reaches across to take Clyde into her arms – slowly, clumsily, she folds him into her body, throwing one of his arms over her shoulders and tucking one of her arms across his back, “work with me.”

Clyde whimpers as he grits his teeth, forcing his weight upon one leg as he heaves himself up and against Wendy’s strong body. He keeps his other leg elevated, but Wendy knows this will be easier if he limps than if he hops.

Plus, there’s the whole – _crack_ – situation to be dealing with.

“We’re gonna go quick and steady, got it?” Wendy says, hitching Clyde higher up her body, “and then we’ll get some painkillers, maybe some alcohol—”

“Oh fuck,” Clyde drawls out, voice thick with agony, “I could totally go for some beer right now.”

“—alcohol for your leg and we won’t be using beer,” Wendy lectures with a frown, “too yeasty. We’ll get some whiskey or vodka on those wounds, wrap them with something clean and keep it elevated. Once the blood is clotted and if you can still wiggle your toes, we should be good until daybreak.”

Clyde curses as he hobbles along, wincing with every step they take as the cracks slowly fade behind – Wendy only feels a faint pang of regret, but truthfully, whoever is stalking them is just as much trapped on the mountain as she is. She’ll cross paths with this psycho again and honestly, whoever killed Butters better be fucking scared.

‘Cause they sure as shit aren’t trapped with a psycho – this fucking psycho is trapped with _them_.

* * *

**2.39AM**

Craig watches numbly as the blood washes from his body and swirls down the drain.

The water is tinged pink and he’s morbidly fascinated by how the colour changes as he becomes clean. Though, that being said, he doesn’t _feel_ clean; rather, Craig feels incredibly nauseous and he doesn’t think he’ll ever really recover from tonight’s events. Just the mere thought of sleeping alone again has his heart gripped in terror, with pure fright flooding his veins.

He sighs and turns the shower off, his hands clutching onto the taps – his body is wracked with exhaustion and though he would love nothing more than to curl up in Tweek’s arms and hide until daybreak, he knows that he has to get out and help his friends. Tweek won’t allow him to wallow in his misery – it’s too unhealthy and Cartman will only take advantage of his cowardice to rip on him.

That fat fuck never needs _more_ ammo against someone he hates.

So, despite feeling like worn-out shit, Craig clambers out of the shower and snatches a towel from the sink. He flicks a glance up at the fogged-up mirror and though his reflection is distorted as shit, he can still see his clean skin and damp hair. He swallows as he roughly towels himself dry, his eyes scouring every inch of his reflection with a critical look. His eyes catch the dark ring around his finger and he feels himself sway faintly from goddamn gratitude.

He can’t believe Tweek has given him a second chance – he’s put the guy through so much shit over the years and still, he’s been given _another_ opportunity to not fuck shit up in their relationship. God, he’s been so stupid – falling for Kenny had been a massive fucking mistake, but you can’t help how you feel. But consciously choosing to lead the guy on? Letting him think he has a shot, feeding him crumbs of affection and just feeding off all the attention the guy would exude?

“Just like him,” Craig mutters bitterly, wrapping the towel around his waist, “just another carbon-fucking-copy, cheating piece of—” and then his words are cut off when he knocks a toothbrush off the counter and it clangs against the floor, vibrating loudly as it turns on – it sounds _nothing_ like a sawblade, but Craig is instantly forced back into his memories, with the sound of piercing screams and buzzing metal filling his ears. He loses all concept of breathing as the world falls away and all he can taste is copper in his mouth.

His wrists feel heavy and his breath catches in his throat – he has to roll his shoulders back to remember that he isn’t chained to a wall, but it isn’t enough… he feels trapped, caged, can’t move, can’t speak—

A pitched whine spills from Craig’s lips as he rocks forward and clasps the sink with tight fists, his eyes clenched shut as he tries to ground himself – he thinks about the cool marble underneath his palms, breathes in the damp smell of shampoo and soap, flexes his toes against warm tiles and tries to remind himself about _where_ he fucking _is_.

“Not in the shed, not in the shed, you’re not in the fucking shed,” Craig chants, his skin crawling as phantom splatters of blood splash against his body – he hears Butters screaming, sees the anguished lilac of Kenny’s eyes and heaves out a dry sob.

Fuck, he’ll be seeing Dr Goodall no matter what, ‘cause he can’t have this trauma fucking up his future. Logically, he knows these are just fucked up memories, twisted nightmares being streamed through his mind, but… but logic isn’t enough to beat the terror which cages his heart in an icy grasp.

So, Craig clings onto the sink and forces his heart rate to calm the fuck down – there’s more important shit to be focused on and him having a breakdown in the goddamn bathroom is the last thing anyone needs to deal with.

“Craig?” he hears, muffled and curious, through the door and he anchors onto it – he anchors to the single, softly-uttered syllable of his name, allows Tweek’s lilting voice to course through his veins and sink into his gut. It chases away the fright which clouds his mind and Craig takes in a single shuddering breath and allows his head to fall back onto his shoulder, “you okay?”

“I’m… fine,” Craig finally replies, strained and rough, his fingers curling around the counter as his nails drag slowly against the surface. The lie rests heavily on his tongue and he kicks himself for being unable to uphold his promise for longer than a fucking hour – he sighs and amends himself, “or I will be – just give me a moment.”

“Need any help?” Tweek asks, forever thoughtful and considerate. Goddammit, Craig really doesn’t deserve him, and he glances towards the bathroom door and shakes his head, despite it being unseen by his fiancé.

“I’m good now honey, I promise,” he says because that part is true at least; he bends down and turns off the toothbrush, returning it to the counter, “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Okay.”

Craig’s ears focus on the soft pads of Tweek’s footsteps as they disappear into the room next door – he takes another steady breath and stares in the mirror, shivering when his mind flashes back to the video. Butters had gazed into this exact mirror with the same exact horrified expression currently plastered across Craig’s features. He looks at the toilet and feels himself gag, because Butters had sat there, waiting and listening, as his heart broke into unfixable pieces. And now he’s… his whole… existence is in unfixable pieces, just because Craig had to be so fucking selfish – he had to have his cake, the pie, the whole damn bakery shop and eat it too.

Shit.

Craig knows that everyone is destined to burn in hell, but even then, some people must deserve worse, right?

And he’s gotta deserve the worst punishment imaginable – right?

With a half-muttered curse, Craig flicks a tap on and splashes cold water onto his face; he hopes to hide any sign of distress because he needs to be more honest, but he also needs more time. Like, how can a guy just walk back to his boyfriend and say, _‘hey, I’m totally fucked up and having trauma-induced breakdowns ‘cause I saw an old friend get sliced in half, ‘cause the guy I was half in love with fucked up and sentenced him to death instead of me, please help_ ’ – Christ.

Dr Goodall better be prepared for this unholy pile of bullshit.

Craig tightens the knot of his towel, keeping it sturdy around his trim waist as he casts his reflection one last critical glance. He looks distorted and blurry and honestly, it’s like his mental state and physical appearance have decided to coordinate for once. He takes several deep breaths and folds his arms across his chest, hugging himself tightly as he darts out of the bathroom and braces himself for the chilly air in the hallway.

He spares one glance towards a single door down the corridor – Jimmy and Stan’s voices can be heard, muffled and inaudible, but clear enough that their investigation sounds seemingly successful. Craig isn’t that curious though, nor does he have the capacity to give a shit about what they’re uncovering, so he tightens his grip around his body and slips into his bedroom with Tweek.

It had taken him several moments to brave going back into it before his shower, but he found himself unable to breathe and had scarpered off to get clean quickly. Tweek had understood, had told him he would wait, but… the itch is still there, lingering under his damp skin. He has to resist the urge to flinch when the first thing he sees is bright red, but then his gaze travels down to soft blond and he feels immeasurably settled. His heart rate still races, but he feels less likely to abscond when he looks at Tweek.

The blond is sitting on their bed – the room is still a mess, but at least the window is closed. Craig’s careful as he pads around the room, still unsure of where he stands, still feeling like he’s walking on glass, on ice, and one wrong move will lead to. To.

Well.

To the end of _everything_ he cares about.

He slowly makes his way to his suitcase and ducks down to unzip it – he feels eyes burning in the back of his head, but he isn’t sure if it’s Tweek staring at him, or the vicious red words which are still plastered across the wall.

YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE TO THE CABIN

Craig swallows roughly as he picks up a pair of boxer-briefs and some skinny jeans – he drops the towel and slides into them, feeling acutely unattractive at that moment. He’s been naked in front of Tweek thousands of times before, but right now he feels… _gross_. As he slowly clothes himself, he feels himself slump under the heavy silence as it stretches further and further.

Craig zips his jeans up and his eyes scour his case for a suitable shirt – he flinches when he hears Tweek sigh from behind him, but he’s not sure what to say. Should he tell his boyfriend that he’s just had a breakdown? Like, does he get to talk about his shit after everything he’s put Tweek through? Like, he knows Tweek wants him to talk about everything, but it seems so selfish to—

“Does everyone see me as… as weak?” Tweek utters, his voice a whisper in the room but loud enough to cut through Craig’s spiralling reverie, “as someone who needs protecting, saving, who— who needs to be fucking wrapped up in a goddamn bubble?”

Craig blinks and in an instant, he rushes to Tweek’s side to reassure him of his worries; all thoughts of bathrooms and flashbacks disappear in an instance.

“No one thinks you’re weak babe,” he says, firm and urgent, because truthfully, he knows most people consider Tweek to be a terrifying force of nature. Wonder Tweek hadn’t controlled lightning for no fucking reason, after all.

“So why did no one say anything to me?” Tweek asks, glancing up at Craig with clear eyes full of frustration, “it was on Token’s phone, _everyone_ watched it, so why? Not even fucking _Cartman_ wanted to tell me anything!”

Craig swallows and shrugs, picking at a loose thread on the bedsheet, “Cartman’s just an asshole who thrives off fucking chaos and misery – as for the rest, well. I guess. Fuck, I guess they were waiting for me to say something, or show you the full video, I guess.” It’s a fragile excuse at best, but he supposes that’s the point of excuses – they’re not supposed to be solid explanations.

Just flimsy words threaded together with strands of uncertainty and bullshit.

And Tweek can read straight through them too.

“That’s not good enough!” he protests, fisting the bedsheets with shaking hands, “ _I’m_ their friend too, they should be able to talk to me! Or am I just not that important? Am I just some twitchy extension of you?” Bitterness tinges his sweet voice and Craig frowns when he tastes the acrid venom from across the bed.

“No!” he denies, urgent and sharp, despite being acutely aware that the actions of their friends clearly speak louder than his words, “no one thinks that; they care about you babe, I fucking promise – I just— they didn’t want to upset you. The party had been fucked up enough without you knowing all the dirty details, so—"

“I expect to be treated better,” Tweek interrupts, fierce and firm, “not just by you, but by everyone – I’ve been taking my meds, right? Been seeing my shrink? Haven’t had any contact with my, _nngh_ , goddamn parents, so why?” he flings his hands in the air and Craig merely leans out of the way with a concerned expression – though he’s become acutely attuned to Tweek’s emotions, he is so far from a professional when it comes to helping him fix shit.

Plus, Tweek’s always been adamant that he shouldn’t ever try to _fix_ Tweek, because he _isn’t_ broken… just a little, off-kilter? And the only person who can really help Tweek is Tweek himself.

But fuck.

If Craig doesn’t wanna _try_ and help him too.

“I don’t know,” he honestly answers, his hands quick to snatch Tweek’s out of the air, linking their fingers together and swiping his thumbs over sharp knuckles, “but I know that they’ll snap out of that shit if you talk to them – Clyde might take some time, but Token and Jimmy will do better.”

“I just want to know why they see me as…” Tweek trails off, deflating as the fight seeps out of him. Craig shifts closer and nods encouragingly, despite his heart breaking when he hears Tweek’s melancholic chuckle, “you know, it’s funny. When I came back from the clinic, everyone was all: _yay Tweek, you’re such a fighter, so fucking brave, total survivor_. But if I’m so strong, why am I still treated like… like…”

“Like glass?”

“Like _shit_!”

Craig blinks and nods, because well.

It’s true – they haven’t been treating Tweek properly for the longest time, longer than last year’s party, probably even longer than when he returned from the clinic. So, he holds onto Tweek’s hands and gazes deep into his pretty eyes.

“When this is all over,” he says steadily, “I will… support you better and get the other guys to… do better too.” Fuck, he had started so strong and ended so goddamn lame, worst fiancé ever, he might as well toss his ring outta the window and then follow it with his own damn body.

Tweek huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, “that sounds… like a good start, I guess,” he utters, his voice delicately thin, but his eyes are bright with exhausted appreciation, “but honestly, I just,” he sniffs and uses his shoulder to rub roughly at his red eyes, “I just wish Butters was okay – when you were in the shower, all I could think about was… was how, _nngh_ , how f-fucking happy he was, when we first showed up. And now I’ll… I’ll never get to see him s-smile again.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Craig agrees quietly, his heart racing when Tweek slowly clutches back at him, his fingers pressing against Craig’s firmly – the brunet bites his lip and nudges at Tweek with his knee before he remarks dryly, “think I’d take Peru over this shit any day.”

Tweek snorts wetly, “terrible joke, awful timing,” he rebukes, as his gaze falls down to their conjoined hands – silence reigns throughout their bedroom. Craig feels less disturbed by sitting on the same bed he had been snatched from, feels less freaked out by the red words screaming down at him from the wall, and all it took was Tweek to hold his goddamn hands.

Craig hopes he can talk to Dr Goodall before he returns to college, because at some point, he will need to sleep alone, will need to exist without Tweek or any of his friend supporting him and right now, he can’t even cope with the mere notion of such a concept.

“There’s something else I was thinking about…” Tweek says, his grip tightening momentarily.

Craig glances up and cants his head to the side, “what is it?”

“I want to talk to Kenny,” the blond replies abruptly, which has Craig violently flinching in response.

“Why?” he asks, hesitant and slow. The mere thought of tangling his existence with Kenny has fury mingling with terror in his gut. It confuses him and upsets him, and he can’t deal with his distress so soon after having a goddamn breakdown. The idea of being near Kenny again has him cowering slightly, but as he begins to withdraw, Tweek is quick to pull him back in.

“Because whilst I was thinking about Butters, I— I just started thinking about _him_. I won’t ever be able to forgive him for what he’s done, but he needs to know that… that he isn’t the only one at fault here for everything, it’s not fair,” Tweek explains, his nails scraping across Craig’s skin gently, “I can’t just… move on without talking to him. I’m, _nngh_ , already being a bad Buddhist and I— we should’ve… should’ve done this before tonight because I knew, _urgh_ , shit was going on and I shouldn’t have threatened to kill him, oh god, everyone probably thinks I’m psychotic again and—”

“No one thinks that, I promise,” Craig interjects, pulling their hands across the space to rest them against his heart – Tweek’s fingers are cold, but his chest his warm and the sensation sends a thrill down his spine. It’s a good thing to focus on when his stomach churns thickly over the thought of Tweek talking to goddamn Kenny, “No one else heard you threatening Kenny and regardless of that, I think they were more focused on Clyde squaring up to Cartman.” Craig pauses, then snickers dryly, digressing just for a moment because he’s desperate to alleviate some of the tension gathering in the room, “wanna take bets on that fight – pretty sure Clyde can knock the fat fuck, flat out.”

Tweek rolls his eyes, stress slipping away from his expression as he tugs a hand free to flick Craig on the nose.

“Be nice,” he orders, before his eyes sparkle impishly, “I’m pretty sure Cartman is the only person Clyde can beat up anyway.”

Craig rubs at his nose and smirks, his body quaking under the relief which crashes over him – he’s joking with Tweek again, playful and flirty, which means he hasn’t ruined everything, ‘cause they can talk some pretty words, but putting that shit into action is always the biggest challenge. He’s inexplicably glad he hasn’t lost Tweek over his shitty actions – he just hopes he can keep him this time.

The comfortable silence lingers between them as they sit and stare at each other – he knows Tweek is evaluating his body, checking for scrapes and bruises, whereas Craig just stares deep into his fiancé’s pretty eyes, grounding himself in the solid certainty and trust which sparkles in their depths.

Then he sighs and flicks a glance upwards, finally taking in the garish red words which will haunt him for the rest of his life – he can’t help but wonder if Token and Nichole are okay, if the cabin is safe, if they’re safe and fuck… what he wouldn’t do for a Token-grade hug right now.

“Do you think we should have gone to the cabin?” he asks, delicately quiet.

Tweek hums and turns to peer at the words too – a light scowl flickers across his features and he shakes his head vehemently.

“I don’t want to talk about _what if’s_ ,” he says, looking at Craig with a fierce glint in his eye, “and I don’t want Token or Nichole to feel bad about going either.”

“I wasn’t gonna blame them,” Craig says, his eyes flicking back towards the wall; it’s true, they couldn’t have known what awaited Craig and he wouldn’t ever want to place that blame on their doorstep – especially when he was the one who chose to keep quiet about wanting to go, “I was just… I don’t know. Fuck. Ignore me.”

“Do you think we should have gone?” Tweek gently prods, cocking his head. He’s encouraging Craig to speak up more, which is great, but—

“Thought you didn’t want to think about it,” Craig says softly.

“I said _I_ didn’t want to talk about it – you can, I’ll listen.”

His heart quivers in his chest and once again, Craig wonders how he could have ever been tempted to look at Kenny when he has _Tweek_ …

“I… fuck, I don’t know,” he shrugs, the words tasting like ash on his tongue as all thoughts of lying cremate in his lungs, “still would’ve been a psycho on the loose. Can’t help but wonder what would have awaited us at the cabin. If someone else would have been taken. I’m… pretty messed up that Butters died, but like, I’m glad no one else was taken as well? But I’m also pretty pissed that it had to be me…” he trails off and glances up at Tweek with furrowed brows, “does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” Tweek shakes his head, “I think it’s a pretty normal reaction – can’t always feel ‘blessed’ and shit,” the blond gives him a shrug and a sad smile, “gotta feel some resentment at some point.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool…” Craig sighs, his entire body swaying as he feels an invisible weight being lifted from his shoulders; there’s a moment of serene silence, with them just gazing at each other, eyes soft and mouths quirked in gentle smiles – Craig wonders if he ought to tell Tweek about what happened in the bathroom, but then his eyes flick downwards and he hums in distracted amusement, “hey Tweek?”

“Yes, Craig?”

“Is that my hoodie?” he asks, cocking his head as he takes in the sight of Tweek wearing his favourite hoodie – it’s white, with the _NASA_ logo on the front… except, it doesn’t say _NASA_ , it says _NASTY_ and it’s probably the best thing Tricia has ever bought him.

“I think I deserve to wear it,” Tweek says wryly.

“You do look better in it,” Craig admits, leaning back to fully take in the sight before him.

Tweek snorts and reaches behind him, snatching up a piece of black clothing and throwing it in Craig’s face. He doesn’t even try to catch it; he just lets it hit him and then it falls to his lap. A small smile flickers on his lips as he holds it up. It’s Tricia’s second present to him – another _NASA_ hoodie, but this one says _I NEED SPACE_ on the back.

“Yeah, this one does suit me more,” he comments, before he sits up to put it on. He greatly appreciates the extra layer of warmth as he pulls the sleeves over his hands. Craig curls his knees to his chest as he regards Tweek steadily – he reflects on their conversation and knows that no amount of digressing will help him ignore Tweek’s mission, “you _really_ want to talk to Kenny?”

God, even saying his name aloud has Craig feeling nauseous as fuck – Christ, he’s gonna throw up. He’s tried so hard to avoid thinking about Kenny, to just push all his emotions down and drown them out with outrage and betrayal; after his shower, he just feels exhausted and hurt, but he can’t think about Kenny. He just needs to think about Tweek… but now, Tweek wants to think about Kenny and that just— it just— he can’t even— his _heart_ —

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

“You don’t have to forgive him and I don’t want to force you to,” Tweek is quick to say, sitting up and reaching across to hold Craig’s hands, “but you’re not the only one with unspoken shit with him which needs dealing with. I also need to, _nngh_ , sort some stuff out.”

“Okay,” Craig says, staring at their hands, because he’s not sure what else there is to say after everything which has been said and done, so he simply nods and says, “okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KYLE HAS LEARNED THE TRUTH BEHIND BUTTERS AND CHARLOTTE  
>  **KYLE HAS LEARNED WHAT CARTMAN’S MEDS ARE FOR****
> 
> ******KYLE AND CARTMAN HAVE DISCOVERED ADOPTION PAPERS:  
>  **\- READ THEM NOW - TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE  
>  **\- DON’T READ THEM YET – HEAD BACK UPSTAIRS TO JOIN THE OTHERS FIRST****** ** **
> 
> ************STAN AND JIMMY HAVE SEEN THE BOX’S CONTENTS  
>  **THEY LEARNED THAT UNCLE BUDD WAS MANIPULATING BUTTERS**** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> ****************WENDY AND CLYDE RETURNED TO THE CABIN SAFELY  
>  **WENDY DID NOT FIND OUT WHAT WAS CAUSING THE SOUNDS IN THE WOODS**** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
> 
> ********************CRAIG HAS PTSD AND IS EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE  
>  **TWEEK HAS CALMED DOWN BUT WANTS TO SPEAK TO KENNY**** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **


End file.
